


Delicacy

by servecobwebheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Accidental weight gain, Belly Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Smut, d/s elements kinda, feedee!brendon, feeder!ryan, feederism, stuffing kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:03:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan took up the habit of cooking at home after a long tour, and Brendon was more than grateful for it.  So grateful, in fact, that his love for it was starting to show on his body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you know me personally, I am so sorry. This was requested on my tumblr awhile ago, by an anon, and I came up with a long-ish plot. Here ya go. Most of the plot is really in the tags, so please read those first.

Touring was always hellish, nearing the end. The lack of privacy got on everyone’s nerves, not having a good routine, the constant movement—all of it was exhausting. Brendon didn't mind it as much as he used to, since they'd done so many tours now, but by the last week, he was definitely looking forward to going home.

It was the worst at night, trying to sleep. His bunk felt lonely and confining compared to what he had at home. He had to daydream about that to fall asleep, thinking of his roomy mattress, and the one he laid beside. Ryan's skin was something Brendon missed the most when trying to sleep. He'd grown used to sleeping and waking up in Ryan's arms. On tour, Ryan's bunk was across the aisle from Brendon's, which was way too far apart for Brendon's liking.

On the last night of tour, after the show, Brendon felt more energized than he had the past few nights. It was enough that he knew he could go out and party, with the rest of the crew, and actually enjoy it. Yet, he felt the better decision was to follow Ryan back to the bus, by themselves, and begin to unwind before going home.

Ryan stood in the tiny kitchenette of the tour bus, waiting for the frozen pasta to warm up in the microwave. They would split the meal between the two of them, as it was the last frozen dish they had. Brendon watched Ryan slowly tap his fingers on the counter, eyelids drooping with exhaustion, until the microwave beeped, signaling the food being ready. Ryan reluctantly turned to take it out, the scent of pre-packaged alfredo filling the air.

“I'm never eating frozen meals again after this tour, I'm serious,” Ryan said, taking the cardboard package back to the couch with two forks.

“You're a liar,” Brendon said, playful. “You live off that shit.”

“So do you,” Ryan retaliated.

“I have the decency to make eggs every now and then, actually.”

“And that's very good of you, but I'm cooking everything when we get home.”

“Whatever you say, Ryan,” Brendon doubted.

“I've been watching cooking shows all tour, and I'm inspired,” Ryan said.

“That doesn't make you a professional cook, unfortunately.”

“We have a lot of cooking books at home, too, you know, from when we first bought the house.”

Brendon dug his plastic fork in the pasta, swirling the noodles around and taking a bite. He grimaced; he'd had the same thing for the past twenty nights straight, probably. The taste and texture was nearly sickening.

“I changed my mind. I have a fuck ton of faith in you to cook, and I really hope you do that, and I'm never eating frozen meals again, either,” Brendon said.

Ryan laughed. “It is pretty bad, isn't it?”

Brendon picked at it, only because he was hungry, but left most of it to Ryan. Even Ryan didn't finish the whole thing, setting it aside shortly after Brendon gave up on choking it down.

“Enough of that, yeah?” Brendon asked.

“Yeah, for sure,” Ryan said.

Brendon moved himself to be closer to Ryan, resting his head on his shoulder. “Home tomorrow,” Brendon said.

Ryan wrapped an arm around Brendon and replied, “I can't wait for it to just be us again.”

“Me neither.” Ryan's fingertips moved slowly, up and down Brendon's arm, relaxing. Brendon let his eyes slip shut as Ryan reached for the TV remote, only opening to slits to see what Ryan was watching. He wasn't surprised to see the Food Network on, and after observing that, closed his eyes to fall asleep for the night.

He awoke to commotion on the bus, people going in and out. His head was propped up on a pillow, a blanket tucked around him, still on the couch. Ryan was nowhere to be found, which only encouraged Brendon to get up. Eyes half closed, he wandered drowsily back to the bunks. Not paying attention to his surroundings, Brendon was surprised when a hand caught his, lacing their fingers.

“Good morning, gorgeous. Where are you going?” Ryan's voice came, close to his ear.

“To find you, go back to sleep,” Brendon said in reply.

“Well, we’re all going back home, B, if you wanna come with me,” Ryan said, jokingly.

Brendon nodded, letting Ryan lead him off the bus. Their last show had been close enough to where they permanently lived that they could just take a cab home, and they did. Ryan was warm, so Brendon curled closer to him on the ride, nose pressed into the crook of his neck. He didn't fall asleep, though, his eyes staying open and drowsiness leaving him.

It was nice to be home, but Ryan left him by himself in the house to go to the grocery store. He was determined that they would have a homemade dinner that night, even if they had to skip lunch for Ryan to prepare. In the meantime, Brendon unpacked some of their things from tour, staying in their tiny in-home studio to write something for fun.

He picked up a guitar, strumming out a few chords, but exhaustion seemed to creep into his bones. His fingers weren't keeping up with his mind, slow and weak, so he resigned to his tiredness. On the couch, he curled up with a blanket, considering starting a video game, but he was already falling asleep.

The next thing he knew, a quiet voice was whispering his name to him, and he woke up to hazel eyes and Ryan's careful touches. “Hey, B, do you wanna go lay in bed? I don't want to keep bothering you out here . . .” Ryan whispered.

Brendon shook his head. He didn't feel all too tired anymore, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I'm okay,” Brendon said, and cleared his throat.

“Alright, well, I'm gonna start dinner, then.”

Brendon perked up a little bit more at that, and asked, “What’re you making?”

“I'm going to try to make a pizza, if that's okay with you.”

“Sounds good,” Brendon said, smiling at Ryan. “Do you want any help?”

“No, no, thank you, though. I want to see what I can do, you know?”

“Yeah. Good luck,” Brendon said. He stood to give Ryan a full kiss on the lips, and then wandered into the kitchen to put groceries away. Ryan appreciated it, although he told Brendon it really wasn't necessary. Brendon only shrugged and opened a beer.

Brendon watched Ryan occasionally, and he seemed focused, concentrated. He was impressed that Ryan was making homemade dough for the pizza, rolling it out on the counter. The sauce Ryan used was store bought, which he seemed embarrassed about. Brendon didn't care much at all, which encouraged Ryan some.

He had three beers before dinner was ready, feeling pleasantly buzzed. Not really feeling hungry after that, he decided he would probably only nibble at the food, just enough to convey to Ryan that it was good.

Ryan carried the whole pizza out of the kitchen, setting it on the table in front of Brendon, and Brendon quickly changed his mind. It looked like something in a magazine, something on TV; perfect, and it smelled amazing. Ryan was pleased, but a bit nervous to try it.

It was a lot larger than either of them had expected, but that wasn't really a problem. At least they would have leftovers. Ryan split it into twelve slices, using a knife.

“Okay, here, it might be kinda hot still . . .” Ryan said, placing a slice on Brendon's plate. Melty cheese strung from the piece, and Brendon was more than impressed with this creation his boyfriend made.

“It looks amazing,” Brendon said, and took a bite, while Ryan was still dishing up his own.

“How is it?” Ryan asked, looking at him expectantly.

“So fucking good, what the fuck?” Brendon said, and it was true. He savored it, the perfect amount of saltiness and tang from the sauce and cheese, melting in his mouth. Delivery pizza, frozen pizza, all of it could fuck off if Brendon got to live with someone who could make this.

Ryan laughed a little bit. “Thanks.”

Soon enough, he was reaching for another slice, opening another beer. Ryan talked to him about the adventures he had while grocery shopping, including losing his shopping list, losing the recipe for the meal, and getting in a fight in the parking lot. “I mean, I'm lucky she didn't slap me, because her kids were there,” Ryan chuckled. “Seriously, it wasn't like I was trying to steal her parking spot in the first place, but then this woman just totally flipped her shit. And then, the _audacity_ for me to be buying so much alcohol, you would think it was killing her. I bought, like, two things of beer and a bottle of wine . . .”

Brendon was lost in the utter comedy of Ryan getting scolded by a middle aged mother of two, laughing between bites of pizza. Pizza, which was fucking delicious, that lady could suck it for thinking Ryan couldn't cook.

He had lost track of how much he had eaten, but knew he was definitely full enough for the night. Yet Ryan was still chatting with him, which was something Brendon always enjoyed, so he made no move to end the dinner. The pizza still sat in the middle of the table, looking tempting, and Brendon took another slice to pick at while Ryan spoke.

“By the time I got home, I didn't really feel guilty about that woman,” Ryan said.

“She sounds like a bitch,” Brendon added.

Ryan nodded in agreement, smiling at Brendon's voice. “You're right, she was a bitch.” Ryan went quiet, gazing absently at the wall behind Brendon, then met Brendon's eyes. “You make everything better, you know that, Brendon?” Ryan said, voice taking on an admiring tone. “You're so beautiful, coming home and seeing you makes nothing else matter.”

Brendon blushed a bit; Ryan's words of affection were the only thing that ever made him do so.

“Everyday, I'm just so glad we moved in together, because then I get to see you all the time, and nothing makes me happier,” Ryan said, like he was admitting something secretive. Ryan was someone romantic, who would display his love for Brendon quite often, but he still seemed to get nervous when speaking out loud about it. As if Brendon would shoot him down, or something equally as ridiculous. Brendon was far too in love to imagine a life where he rejected Ryan's love, as he yearned for it all the time.

He was distracted by the onslaught of devotion from Ryan by the quickly overwhelming feeling of tight fullness in his stomach, making the waistband his jeans feel snug and his breathing to be a bit heavier. He had eaten too much, but the food was so good, Brendon didn't regret it, although it was slightly painful. Even though he felt full, he was tempted when he looked at the remaining pizza, seriously considering another slice before Ryan stood up.

Ryan took his hand, pulling him up for a deep kiss, slow. Brendon's eyes slipped shut, before Ryan broke the kiss. “I'll take care of the dishes, but . . . why don't you go on to bed, and we can make good use of our first night alone. I missed you,” Ryan murmured.

“Okay,” Brendon agreed, almost automatically, not really thinking about it.

Ryan grinned, sultry, and let go of Brendon's hands. “I'll be there in a minute,” he said.

Brendon was never one to reject an offer from Ryan, if Ryan wanted to fuck him. Brendon was asking for it, most of the time, before Ryan even said a word. But that night, Brendon knew he should've turned Ryan down, as he just wanted to lay down, go to sleep. All the food had made him drowsy.

He turned on the bathroom light, ready to change into night clothes, since there was no way he was letting Ryan fuck him. He unbuttoned his jeans, immediately feeling relieved, and unhurriedly pulled them off. Almost all he could think about was how full he felt. He took off his shirt, leaving him in his boxers, and caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Unsurprised by his reflection, he took in that he looked bloated, which he was, in the abdomen. There was a red mark below his navel from the button of his jeans cutting in, which typically didn't happen. Personally, he didn't care too much, as it was a small price to pay if he got to eat a bunch of gourmet pizza. However, he surely did not want Ryan to see him like this, he thought.

Too full to have sex. That was embarrassing. The thought of pursuing anything made him think he would get sick.

Experimentally, he ran his hands over his stomach, feeling the slight bump there. He was so used to it being flat, that it was fascinating to see it differently. If Ryan was going to cook like this all the time, then Brendon should get used to his body looking like that, he thought to himself. He frowned. Never again, he thought, would he let himself get carried away like this, or else he’d be in trouble. He wanted to keep having sex with Ryan, for sure.

He was reluctant to put on sweatpants, thinking about the waistband cutting into the new curve of his abdomen, but did so anyway. He only had them pulled up to his hip bones, which stuck out slightly. For good measure, he put on a t-shirt as well, just so Ryan wouldn't catch a glimpse of his bloated figure.

Still feeling his stomach, interestedly, he made his way to the bed, carefully crawling underneath the covers. Some of his fullness was eased by lying down, and all feeling of discomfort was gone when he was asleep, before Ryan ever came in the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan is a sweetheart (hopefully that point comes across if I wrote this well enough).

Brendon woke up, and Ryan was out of bed. He rolled over, eyes closed, feeling the space on Ryan's side of the bed for some warmth, the feeling of his skin, but he wasn't there. That made him sit up, look around, and shiver a bit. He had been hoping to press himself closer to Ryan for some morning cuddling, but none of that was happening.

He smelled food in the air, and smiled. Ryan was making them breakfast. That was nice.

Before going out to see Ryan, Brendon stripped and got in the shower. He felt relieved at the sight of his flat stomach, although he was hungry. He couldn't wait to see what Ryan was making them for breakfast.

It was as he was rinsing the last of the conditioner from his hair that he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and he startled. “Sh, sh, it's just me,” Ryan said in Brendon's ear, and Brendon was already relaxed against Ryan's chest.

“Hi, baby,” Brendon said, turning around in Ryan's arms to kiss him. They were both naked, in the shower, chests pressed together, and Brendon naturally had the thought of making it up to Ryan from last night. Instead of pulling away, keeping the kiss innocent, Brendon pushed his tongue past Ryan's lips, and Ryan inhaled sharply. This was only combatted when Ryan took the control, biting Brendon's lip. Muffled, Brendon groaned, hips bucking against Ryan's on their own will.

“I'm not gonna fuck you,” Ryan said, “I'm going to make love to you, because I can be sweet—”

Brendon's cock was rapidly hardening, but Ryan's words were so unappealing to him. “Fuck, Ryan, why? Why? Fuck me hard, you know how I want it.”

Ryan pressed his lips to Brendon's once more. “Okay, okay, you're right,” Ryan said, already breathy, against Brendon's lips.

Brendon smirked. He loved getting what he wanted.

Ryan moved them so Brendon's back was against the shower wall, shoving his tongue back in Brendon's mouth. “I've missed this so much, missed you,” Ryan said.

“I know, me too. I need you,” Brendon said, through gritted teeth. Impatient, he wrapped a hand around Ryan's cock, earning a loud groan from Ryan.

Just because he knew how desperate Brendon was, Ryan trailed his hands down Brendon's body, from his hair to his hips, impossibly slow. Brendon was panting from the touches, eyes dark, watching Ryan try to keep his hips still from fucking Brendon's hand. As Ryan's fingers trailed down Brendon's ribcage, he breathed out, “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Brendon squirmed under the praise, feeling his cock beginning to leak. “Please, Ryan,” he choked out.

With ease, Ryan slipped his hands underneath Brendon's thighs, and lifted him up off the ground. His legs wrapped around Ryan's waist, hanging on, and his back pressed against the wall with force. “Brendon, gorgeous,” Ryan said, in a voice that was low and rough, enough to make Brendon whimper, “I want to watch you finger yourself like this.”

Brendon nodded, agreeing, but was afraid to let go of Ryan's shoulders, thinking he would fall. Ryan saw this, and squeezed Brendon's thighs tighter, holding him. Brendon sucked on two of his own fingers for a moment, before hesitantly reaching underneath himself. Ryan held him, steady, and Brendon allowed himself to push one finger in. There was a glint in Ryan's eye as he watched him, and it made Brendon shiver, feel the need to add a second finger.

When he located his own prostate, he clenched around his fingers and groaned. “Fuck, that's so fucking hot, B,” Ryan said. He sucked on the side of Brendon's neck, intent to leave a hickey, to which Brendon scissored his fingers and groaned again.

“Ryan, Ryan, fuck me, please, fuck me,” Brendon said, his own fingers not being enough.

“Okay, yeah, yeah,” Ryan said. Brendon placed both hands on Ryan's shoulders again, his nails digging into Ryan's skin when the head of his cock brushed his hole.

Carefully, Ryan loosened his hold on Brendon so he could drop on Ryan's cock. Brendon moaned, his head hitting the tile wall behind him. Ryan gripped his thighs even tighter to start moving his hips, thrusting up into Brendon, trying to get his angle right.

Brendon loved the feeling of Ryan in him, just Ryan, stretching him. It was even better when the head of Ryan's cock hit his prostate, making Brendon's eyes pop open, noises escape his mouth that he wasn't aware of. “Right there, Ryan, unf, don't stop,” Brendon panted. His cock throbbed against his stomach, and he knew Ryan saw it, even if Ryan's eyes were watching Brendon's face.

“Touch yourself, lover,” Ryan gasped out. Brendon didn't need to be told twice, though he was already shaking from pleasure. He stroked his cock, soon knowing he was close. With a roll of his hips down onto Ryan's cock, Brendon came, moaning Ryan's name.

“Fuck, B,” Ryan said, his rhythm falling out. He dug his fingernails into Brendon's thighs as he came, filling Brendon up.

After a moment of them catching their breaths, Brendon felt Ryan pull out, and he was being eased to stand on his own again.

“You're so good,” Brendon managed to say to Ryan. His legs were shaking, feeling weak, like jello, as they tried to support him. Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon's waist, holding him close, and helped Brendon clean up before getting out of the shower.

Ryan turned the water off, but didn't let go of Brendon. Brendon was grateful, since Ryan was so warm. “How do you feel about another round?” Ryan whispered.

Brendon smirked. “Please.”

“You're the most perfect thing,” Ryan praised, turning Brendon around in his arms. He slipped his hands under Brendon's legs, picking him up once more. Brendon automatically wound his legs around Ryan, his arms around his neck, but didn't relax.

“You'll drop me,” Brendon claimed, as Ryan started walking out of the shower.

“No I won't,” Ryan said.

“But—”

“You're a tiny little thing, B. You weigh, like, nothing.”

Brendon couldn't protest anymore, as Ryan was lowering him onto the bed. As Ryan knelt between Brendon's legs, kissing down Brendon's chest and abdomen, Brendon's cock twitched into interest again.

“You're beautiful,” Ryan said, lightly rubbing Brendon's hips.

“So are you,” Brendon breathed back, fingers tangling in Ryan's hair.

“Now can I make sweet, slow, passionate love to you?” Ryan asked, emphasizing the drama.

Brendon smiled. “Of course.”

<<<<<>>>>>

It was hot that day, the middle of summer in southern California always was. Brendon put on a t-shirt and basketball shorts, while Ryan went to reheat breakfast. He felt hungry, stomach feeling too empty, and whatever Ryan made smelled so good, he was drawn out to the kitchen.

Ryan was just placing plates on the table when he saw Brendon, and his face lit up with a smile. He kissed the top of Brendon's head, hands on Brendon's waist. “I made us pancakes,” Ryan said, “because it's easy, and it's not, you know, frozen pasta.”

Brendon giggled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Ryan had already dished it up for both of them, and had made it look beautiful, yet again. He had given Brendon what appeared to be a huge portion, stacked up high on the plate, syrup and butter drizzled and dripping down the sides. There were only four there, really, but they were fluffy and tall. Brendon stared for a moment, just slightly in awe, then glanced up at Ryan's hazel eyes. In that moment, Brendon felt so unfathomably lucky.

Brendon's stomach panged, and he picked up his fork. Ryan had already eaten some, and Brendon took his first bite quite eagerly. It was the best thing Brendon had ever tasted, right there, soft and buttery and sweet. “Ryan, you are brilliant,” Brendon said, and Ryan smiled.

Brendon didn't even think, too amused by making Ryan blush with compliments, and the food was perfect. Self control didn't even cross his mind, stopping himself from finishing the meal, cleaning his plate, never happened. That was a lot of food, and he was definitely full, but told himself the damage probably wasn't as bad as the night before. He wasn't tired from it, at least.

In reality, he’d probably eaten more in the morning, but he ignored that thought easily enough.

Ryan didn't say anything, aside from, “I'm glad you liked it,” as he took Brendon's plate away.

Brendon breathed heavily, out of his nose. Breathing in too deeply seemed like a painful stretch, stomach too full to handle any more pressure. He was thirsty, and drank a glass of water, only to feel even fuller with the liquid hitting his stomach.

Before standing up, he tentatively looked down at himself, as he could feel the fabric of his shirt against his abdomen, which wasn't normal. His stomach was rounded, from the base of his ribcage down to his hips, in a perfect curve. He could see the line of the waistband from his shorts through his shirt, digging into his skin.

He waited for Ryan to finish the dishes and wander off before moving. Standing up made him a bit uncoordinated, and he felt the need to sit down again very quickly. Again, he had to hide his bloated figure from Ryan, and sat at the piano in their living room.

While he played—songs he knew so well, he didn't have to think about it—he attempted to scold himself for his overindulgence. He scared himself with the thought that he would do it all again in about an hour, if given the chance. Those pancakes had been so good, and what was a little fullness? It wasn't all that bad, it just gave him a reminder of what he ate, and got him thinking about more food.

He thought about the pizza from the night before. There were leftovers in the fridge, and Brendon was sure it would be just as good heated up again. He hoped Ryan would make that again some time, because that was perfect.

By the time Ryan told him lunch was made, Brendon was hungry again. And, going to bed that night, after dinner, Brendon was full to the brim.

Ryan was cooking almost constantly, and he loved it, always proud of his work. Brendon ate whatever he made, always impressed with him. He was stuffed all the time, never going hungry, but it was nice. The feeling was mostly pleasant to him, to be well fed, but he knew he had to stop, pull back.

He was spending his days eating a lot of the time, or sitting at the piano, soothing himself. Touching his full stomach, applying slight pressure, tended to be comforting. He avoided Ryan seeing him naked at night, getting into the habit of morning sex. Everything was good, and Brendon was enjoying all of it, aside from the inevitable consequences he knew would happen if he continued.

After every meal, when he was bloated, stomach expanded, he told himself firmly that he would only eat half of whatever Ryan served, or stop when Ryan stopped eating. Ryan had always eaten more than him, until after this tour, but now their roles had switched.

Ryan never had to worry about gaining weight, and Brendon doubted he could if he tried. The man was like a stick figure, or something, but Brendon adored his lanky and slim limbs, tiny frame, narrow hips.

Brendon lacked willpower, and he knew it. Often times, he wouldn't care at all, but as a week passed, he was worried.

At lunch one day, when Ryan had made cheesy spinach pressed sandwiches, Brendon was determined he would nearly skip the meal. It smelled delicious, but Brendon would remain composed.

Ryan had cut the sandwiches in half, but there were four pieces on his plate. Cheese oozed out of them, steaming slightly. Brendon's stomach rumbled, and he could only hope Ryan couldn't hear it. Ryan tried his own as Brendon sat down. “I'm so glad these didn't burn,” Ryan said, with a grin.

Carefully, Brendon picked up a sandwich and took a bite. Fuck him, it was so good. Damn Ryan and his talent. He took a deep breath and put it down. He should've been full from breakfast still, he shouldn't have wanted to eat and eat until the food was gone.

He looked away from what was in front of him, resisting, but he didn't feel proud of himself. The only thing he felt was tempted.

Ryan noticed Brendon's lack of movement, of course. “You didn't eat anything,” Ryan said, with a puzzled frown.

“I'm just not really hungry, you know,” Brendon lied.

“Was it bad?” Ryan asked, looking at Brendon's plate.

“No, no, it was really good, Ryan, it's just . . .”

“I'm sorry, babe, do you want me to make you something else? I thought I might have cooked it for too long—”

“No, thank you, it's fine. I don't want anything.”

“Are you sure? I feel bad.”

“Don't, I'm really just not hungry,” Brendon insisted.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay? This is weird.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” Brendon chuckled.

“Well, if you're sure . . .” Ryan said, and went back to his own dish.

Brendon enviously watched Ryan eat, and Ryan eyed Brendon every now and then, just to see that he hadn't touched the food. He seemed disappointed every time, with himself.

Just because Brendon felt bad for offending Ryan, he told himself he'd eat half of a sandwich, then claim he was full.

Everything was going fine, Brendon relieved to have something to savor, until Ryan gave up on eating his. He still had a whole sandwich left, but said, “I'll just throw this out, it obviously wasn't that good.”

Brendon nearly moaned with every bite, it was so good, he couldn't have Ryan thinking it wasn't. “You know what? I changed my mind. I'll take that, baby, it's really good.”

What was he doing? Now he was committed to eating three sandwiches, fuck. As soon as he started on the second one, though, he stopped worrying. He managed to finish, and Ryan simply told him he was too sweet.

He was even more full than normal, the front of his very loose tank top brushing his abdomen. There was an ache there, but it was satisfying, to Brendon, as he wasn't feeling tempted for anything else.

Ryan snuck up behind him, a hand coming to Brendon's side, and his lips on Brendon's neck. Brendon rapidly sucked in, trying to make his stomach concave, or at least flat. It burned his muscles to do so, and the ache was worse, but Ryan didn't seem to notice. There was no hesitation of Ryan’s kisses along his neck, or the movement of his thumb down Brendon's side. His hand was warm, and distracting Brendon from the slight pain, but he worked hard to not let his abdomen pouch out.

“I just wanted to say that I love you, and you don't have to be so nice to me,” Ryan said, nuzzling Brendon's neck.

“I'm sure you'd leave me if I wasn't nice to you,” Brendon said, smirking, though he was struggling.

Ryan scoffed, tongue flicking over a fading hickey, before he moved away from Brendon. “I think it would be hard to get me to leave you.”

As soon as Ryan walked away, Brendon let out a deep breath, his stomach surging forward. With it, he felt the waistband of his basketball shorts get pushed down by the curve, stopping when his hips flattened out. He looked down in surprise, but felt relief with not having it cutting in.

This had to stop.

But it didn't. He had no idea what he was to do, in order to cut back on his food intake, without hurting Ryan's feelings. Okay, maybe he knew he could just, say, stop eating before he felt stuffed, but he had too much of a hard time resisting.

He guessed he could just tell Ryan to stop giving him so much food, since he was afraid of gaining weight, but that was embarrassing. From there, he had to think about why he was afraid of gaining weight. He enjoyed eating, overeating, even, feeling full. It was a change to see his abdomen round and full after he ate, but it wasn't something he disliked. He supposed it all came down to Ryan, and Brendon's fear that Ryan wouldn't be too keen on the idea.

Brendon was full of energy when he woke up, two weeks after tour ended. Ryan had to go on a quick trip to the store, and Brendon decided he would accompany him.

He woke Ryan up by slipping under the sheets, and taking Ryan's cock in his mouth. Ryan moaned in his sleep, slowly waking up as his cock grew hard. Brendon knew he was awake when he heard a, “Fuck, Brendon, oh fuck.”

After Ryan came, he insisted on returning the favor, to which Brendon didn't object.

Brendon showered, closing the door to the bathroom to keep the heat in, while Ryan was off making a shopping list. He was feeling good, a bit on the giddy side, even, and planned his outfit. It was still scorching hot outside, but he knew he had to wear more than a tank top and shorts out in public. With the steam still collected in the bathroom, Brendon didn't want to open the door yet, the warmth nice.

He pulled on his boxers, threw on a gray t-shirt. He thought about how lucky he had gotten with Ryan, how in love he was. If he was completely honest, he missed seeing Ryan's face whenever they were apart, as pathetic as that made him feel.

That morning, he chose black skinny jeans, stepping into them, tugging them on. There wasn't really any give when he got them to the middle of his thighs, and he had to really pull and squirm some to get them over his ass. He bit his lip, fingers fumbling.

They wouldn't button.

Brendon's worry spiked as he couldn't get the button to close, couldn't get the fabric to meet in the middle of his abdomen. He sucked in his stomach, but it wasn't really even swollen at all; he hadn't eaten anything yet that day, and it was as flat as it had ever been. The jeans were really just squeezing around his thighs and ass, and he sighed.

It wasn't like it was the first time he’d had the problem of his ass being too big for a pair of pants, it was just that those things typically happened when he was shopping. He tugged on the button one more time, before he knew it was useless, and he felt frustrated.

His mind jumped to the thought that he’d gained weight, it had happened, exactly what he had been afraid of. For a moment, he reasoned with himself that the jeans could've shrunk in the wash, he could've taken a pair of Ryan's on accident, anything, anything besides there being extra weight on him. Then, he eyed the scale that was sitting in the corner of the bathroom, and he knew he had to check.

Subconsciously, he had been avoiding getting on the scale since they'd gotten home, finding it better to live in denial. Or whatever. He took a deep breath, trying to both calm himself down and prepare for weighing himself.

He stepped on the scale and looked up, squeezing his eyes closed. Before tour, he had weighed a lean 145 pounds, the last time he checked. Before looking down to see the number the scale displayed, Brendon hoped that the number would be the same, that he would have something to prove that it was all just in his head. Another deep breath, and he looked down.

158.

Thirteen pounds, that was thirteen pounds. He’d gained thirteen pounds in two weeks. Fuck. That seemed like a lot, definitely more than he was expecting. Stupidly, he felt tears prick at his eyes, and he stepped off the scale to look in the mirror.

Tears clouded his vision too much, making his thoughts go a mile a minute. What was he going to do? How would Ryan react when he found out? What if Ryan was completely disgusted?

Ryan loved Brendon's figure, calling him beautiful and gorgeous all the time, admiring him, praising him in bed for being hot. Of course Ryan would be attracted to a slim waist, sharp angles of bones, and just a hint of an ass. But this . . . this was different. Thirteen pounds of fat on his body, Brendon could only imagine Ryan being repulsed.

What if Ryan wouldn't be attracted to him anymore? Then what? It wasn't like Brendon was the only attractive guy Ryan had ever known, Ryan could go find someone else pretty easily, were he to leave Brendon. Brendon's heart shattered at the thought of Ryan leaving him, but what if that happened? He couldn't fit his fat ass in his jeans, and Ryan was going to leave him. He let out a sob, leaning his palms against the bathroom counter.

He felt so embarrassed—how could he even hide it from Ryan if his pants didn't fit? Ryan was going to be so disappointed in him, he didn't know how he was going to cope. He was really crying now, sobbing at the idea of being alone, of not having Ryan, of Ryan hating him. Brendon wanted to curl up, cry, and have all of this go away. It was too fucking hot in the bathroom, but he wasn't going to open the door or leave, wanting to stall seeing Ryan as long as possible.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Brendon jumped, making a louder sob emit from his chest. “Brendon?” Ryan's light voice came, and Brendon tried to pull it together, he really did, but it wasn't happening.

“Y-yeah?” Brendon asked, sniffling.

“Brendon, sweetheart, are you crying?”

“No, n-no,” Brendon said, but he was obviously still sobbing.

“Brendon . . .” Ryan said, and the door was opening. Brendon turned to face him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ryan's jaw dropped a little bit at the sight of him, and he was quickly in front of Brendon, cupping his face. “Hey, hey, sh, what's wrong?” Ryan rushed out, concern apparent in his voice.

Brendon shook his head, lip trembling.

“My love . . .” Ryan said, voice soft, and he enveloped Brendon in his arms, fingers curling loosely in Brendon's hair. Brendon cried more, thinking about how maybe his shoulders had gone soft, less bony, and maybe Ryan could feel that, with his fingers tracing lines between Brendon's shoulder blades. “Why're you crying?” Ryan asked, and his voice was soft.

Brendon tried to open his mouth to say something, anything besides the actual point, but all that came out was a sob. This might have been the last time Ryan ever held him close like this.

Ryan led him out to the bedroom, eyes remaining locked. Brendon worried about whether or not Ryan would notice the button of his jeans hanging open, or if Ryan was really too caught up in seeing Brendon's tears. Ryan had them sit down on the edge of the bed, side by side, and Ryan's fingers went back to stroking Brendon's hair, trying to quiet his cries.

“Sweetheart,” Ryan started again, “what is it? What's wrong?”

Brendon's whole body was shaking with his sobs, he could feel it. He was going to lose Ryan . . .

Of course, Brendon craved Ryan's comfort, whenever he felt miserable, and he buried his face in Ryan's neck without thinking. “Sh, shh, it's okay, baby boy,” Ryan said.

“I'm sorry,” Brendon wept.

“Why, B? Why're you apologizing?” Ryan asked, and Brendon could hear the complete worry in his voice.

“B-be—because—I—” Brendon's voice broke off, as he couldn't keep it together, and he whimpered, “I'm sorry,” again.

“Brendon,” Ryan said, voice more firm this time, “what's wrong?”

“Y-you're gonna leave me,” Brendon said.

“Why would I leave you? What happened? Did you—did you cheat on me?” Ryan asked, pulling away from Brendon, putting distance between them.

Brendon nearly laughed at the absurdity. “No, no, of course not, that's not it.”

Ryan looked relieved, and he relaxed. “Then I'm not going to leave you, B, I promise.”

Brendon's heartbeat slowed down some, and he stopped crying, Ryan's gentle words calming him. He was still afraid to tell Ryan that he had put on thirteen pounds since they had been home from tour, what the fuck, but he didn't think the reaction would be as bad as he had thought.

When Brendon didn't say anything, Ryan cupped Brendon's face in his hands, turned his head so their eyes met. “Okay?” Ryan asked.

Brendon sniffled and nodded. “Okay.”

Ryan exhaled, and laced his fingers with Brendon's. “Now what's making you cry, my love?”

Brendon gulped, looking down to avoid Ryan's eyes.

Ryan thumbed over Brendon's knuckles, and said, “Is it something I did?”

“No, not really.”

“I'm really sorry, I would hate myself if I was the one making you cry like that, it hurts me so much to see you so sad and I don't even know what's wrong—”

Ryan had done a good job at coaxing Brendon, just like that, and Brendon blurted out, “I've gained weight,” just to get Ryan to stop acting all guilty.

“You—what?”

Brendon swallowed down his fear and repeated, “I've gained weight.”

“What're you talking about? No you haven't.”

“But, no, I have. You don't have to look at me naked or touch me or anything, it's okay, I get it, and I can go on a fucking diet or whatever it takes, as long as you stay with me, please don't leave me because of this, I promise I can get rid of the extra weight if that'll make you attracted to me again, I just—”

“Brendon,” Ryan cut into his ramblings, “I don't think you've gained weight. And even if you have—”

“I've gained quite a few pounds, since we've been home, and I mean—” Brendon let out a nervous laugh, at himself, and looked down—“my jeans don't fit, they won't even button.”

“Okay? You don't have to be so upset about it, B, don't be so hard on yourself.”

“It's not that, I don't really care, personally,” Brendon confessed, “but I'm just freaked out, because I know you wouldn't be attracted to me anymore since I put on some weight, and I thought it would make you leave me.”

“I'm not going to leave you. Brendon, you know how beautiful I think you are, how beautiful you are, and nothing's going to change that. Besides, lover, I don't believe you've actually gained weight.”

“Ryan, I've gained enough that my jeans won't button, and I checked the scale, so.” Brendon was still a bit too scared to say the number.

“Your jeans could've shrunk in the wash, because I fuck up the laundry most of the time anyway, so it's probably my fault,” Ryan said, squeezing Brendon's hand. “And the scale could be off, who knows?”

“To be honest, I doubt it. I've been eating so much, it's like I can't even help it, I shouldn't be so surprised.”

“How much have you gained, if I can ask that?”

Brendon couldn't look at Ryan, as he squeaked out, “Thirteen pounds,” with a wince.

Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Really? I don't believe that.”

“How? Have you not noticed? I practically fucking stuff myself at every meal, like I'll never eat again or some shit, and I'm almost always fucking bloated, I'm surprised you haven't said anything,” Brendon let out.

“I've just been flattered,” Ryan said, biting his lip, “because I'm always worried that my cooking is going to be awful. So, no, I haven't noticed, but I am going to check the scale, because thirteen pounds . . . That kinda seems like a lot.”

“I'm sorry,” Brendon said again, really not wanting to disappoint Ryan.

“Don't be, baby boy. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” He kissed the top of Brendon's head, and headed into the bathroom. Brendon followed him.

Ryan slipped off his shoes and stepped on the scale, looking over his shoulder at Brendon. Brendon stared back expectantly, and Ryan looked down. Ryan simply shrugged when he saw the number, and Brendon leaned over to look. 129.

His boyfriend was a stick figure.

“That's pretty normal. I mean, it's a little low, but . . .” Ryan said, and Brendon sighed.

“Hey, hey, don't feel bad. If you don't care, then I don't either,” Ryan said, seeing the look on Brendon's face. That soothed Brendon further. “I think we should make sure, though, that this isn't a mistake, you know? So, it's your turn,” Ryan suggested, stepping off the scale and gesturing for Brendon to get on.

Brendon hung his head, but did so anyway. The same 158 showed up, and Ryan hooked his chin over Brendon's shoulder to see for himself.

“Hmm. Well, I still don't hate you or anything, still doesn't change how I feel about you,” Ryan said.

Brendon was a bit surprised that he still weighed the same amount, that he hadn't cried out thirteen pounds worth of tears. It felt like he had. He also couldn't really believe how neutral Ryan was acting, still thinking that Ryan would avoid having sex with him now, or something along those lines.

“What am I supposed to do?” Brendon wondered, out loud, and Ryan laced their fingers again.

Ryan didn't answer him.

“I guess I'll lose it so you'll still sleep with me. I never fucking thought I would get to this point,” Brendon said.

“I'm not going to stop sleeping with you, B. I'm gonna think you're hot no matter how much you weigh.”

They were sitting on the bed again, facing each other, and Brendon was starting to get distracted from how uncomfortable his jeans were, now that they were too small. It didn't stop him from taking in Ryan's words, and he couldn't believe them. “Ryan, you don't have to lie.”

“I'm not,” Ryan said, a little snappy, and he looked down.

“Really? So, are you saying that if I got even fatter, you'd still look at me and want to fuck? Yeah, I didn't think so.”

Ryan was looking down, his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, and he shook his head. He mumbled something, which Brendon couldn't hear, but Brendon was almost sure it was an agreement.

“What?” Brendon asked.

“I said, I'd like that,” Ryan repeated, clearly, although he was blushing more.

Brendon blinked once, twice, and Ryan looked away again. “You don't have to say shit like that to make me feel better. I already told you, I don't care much about my weight, working on losing it is all for you—”

“Don't lose the weight for me. Do you really think I care if your ass is a little bigger? I want you to be happy, B, and if losing thirteen pounds is gonna do that for you, then I'm right here to help you, but I'm just saying, I would like it if you gained more weight.”

“You would—you would like it?” Brendon asked, not believing it.

“Yes, I would,” Ryan said, his cheeks growing ever more pink.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Brendon demanded. This was new, this was something he’d never heard before, and Ryan looked so shy, timid, Brendon could tell this was some confession of his.

Ryan cleared his throat. “I enjoy the thought of you getting a little bit . . . bigger.”

Brendon didn't want to object, but it seemed so strange to him. Ryan had thought about him gaining weight before?

“Explain. What do you mean, you ‘like it?’”

Never did Brendon remember seeing Ryan blush so hard, and it had been pretty bad the first time Brendon had caught Ryan jacking off. That had nothing on this, now.

“I like the concept. In every aspect,” Ryan said, as if that would clear things up.

“What concept? What aspect? This is all new shit to me, Ryan, and if you're fantasizing about me, then of course I want to know,” Brendon rationalized.

“It's weird, I know, I'm weird. And you might be the one leaving me, now—which would be fucking awful—for thinking about you like this, but . . .”

“I'm not gonna leave you. How do you think about me, baby?” Brendon asked, his voice a bit teasing, regaining the confidence to be back to his usual self.

“I—I think about you with a little more fat on your body, I don't know, how adorable you'd be with some softness, or I think about you eating until you're really full, and how you would look then, or I think about fucking you when I would have something to grab onto, and you would be all soft and jiggly, which would just be really fucking hot to me. Fuck, it's weird, Brendon, I'm so sorry, but you wanted to know, and I just think you would look really good with, like, fifty more pounds on you.” Ryan exhaled, and Brendon noticed his fingers were shaking a bit, so he quickly snatched one of his hands up and held it tight.

“You're not weird, love, don't be so shy,” Brendon said. Fifty pounds, though. Brendon couldn't imagine himself with fifty more pounds. “Is this why you've been cooking so much for me? To get me bigger?” Brendon questioned, suddenly realizing how that would make sense.

“No, no,” Ryan answered, “I don't want to do anything that's going to make you uncomfortable, I've been cooking so we don't have to eat frozen food all the damn time.”

Brendon chuckled a bit, but felt somewhat unsettled. How come Ryan hadn't told him all this earlier? It felt so relieving to know.

“So . . . Do you have to, like, think about this when we fuck for you to stay hard?” Brendon asked, wondering.

“No, you're too hot as it is, I could get hard for you at any time,” Ryan said, laughing a bit.

Brendon had to contemplate all of it to himself. Not only was Ryan going to be okay with Brendon's thirteen pound weight gain, he wanted Brendon to gain even more. He wanted it to be noticeable.

Without really thinking of the repercussions, Brendon asked, “How do you feel about that fantasy becoming a reality?”

Ryan nearly choked on his own spit. “What?”

“I don't know, I've already gained thirteen pounds really easily, and it's been kinda fun, even though I've been worried about you hating me. That's not a problem, though, not anymore, so. I don't know.”

“Brendon, Brendon. I'm not telling you this to pressure you into anything. I'm fine with anything you do, I love you, I think you're absolutely gorgeous right now—”

“It's always really been my choice, to eat everything you cook, and I probably could have stopped. But I didn't want to, I don't want to. And if I gain weight, then fine, that's even better for you.”

“So, you're saying you're not gonna diet?” Ryan asked, and Brendon could see the corners of his lips twitching up.

“No, I don't think so.”

“But, why? Like, you know I would love it, but I'm not gonna be sad if you don't gain anymore, so why would you want—?”

Brendon gulped. It was a good question. Brendon himself wasn't entirely sure what made him decide he wanted to do this for Ryan, but it felt right. It simply did. “I—I think I would slowly be gaining weight, either way, just because I can't resist anything you make. So. Why wouldn't I do this for you? If it's gonna happen either way, why would I be worried about it?” Brendon said, figuring it all out as it past his lips.

“I—I guess. I'm just worried about you now, dammit. This could be, like, a life changing thing, you know? And I don't want you to hate yourself or me.”

“I have a feeling you're gonna make me feel pretty damn good about myself,” Brendon said, smiling as he leaned in to kiss Ryan's lips. “And I would rather eat all day than do anything else.”

Ryan bit his lip, hard, at that, and Brendon was pleased with himself. He rushed forward to clutch at both of Ryan's hands, looking him in the eye. Something seemed so exciting about gaining the weight on purpose, allowing himself to eat and eat and never feel guilty. Fifty pounds. It seemed like a lot, Brendon figured, but he knew he would've easily gained that much just from living with Ryan, even if they hadn’t talked about it. Brendon felt so lucky that Ryan was really into that idea, even if he could hardly believe it.

Brendon had a mental image of himself, lounging on the couch, and he's rubbing his stomach, stuffed full and tight. He slowly nurses a beer to try and soothe the ache, but nothing happens. Ryan appears, bringing him some chocolate dessert, with a loving smile. Brendon apparently can’t resist this, swallowing bite after bite down into his full stomach—no, gut. His dream future-self has no shame, his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, rubbing his gut, groaning, all while Ryan tells him how big he's getting from all the eating, in that voice he uses when he's dirty talking.

Brendon snapped back into reality, looking into Ryan's eyes, and decided right then and there that they were definitely soul mates.

“If I gain a lot of weight, you have to promise to still cook for me all the time, alright?” Brendon asked.

“Of course,” Ryan said, grinning at Brendon fully this time.

“Well, then you'd better get to work, because I'm fucking starving over here,” Brendon said, only half joking. His appetite was demanding his attention at the moment, but it could wait if he had to prolong the conversation with Ryan.

Ryan practically scrambled off the bed, and Brendon smirked to himself. Ryan hesitated before leaving, looking at Brendon on the bed. “Shouldn't you change, into something more comfortable maybe?” He asked Brendon.

Brendon nodded in agreement. The tight jeans were somewhat confining to his movements, and cutting into his hips. Nothing sounded better than a nice pair of sweatpants.

He struggled to stand up—the jeans were so constricting, they made it difficult to bend his knees—and rolled the waistband down once. That was supposed to give him leverage to pull the jeans down, all the way. He quickly found that they weren't going over the curve of his ass, and he looked behind himself to see. Was his ass really sticking out that far? Since when? “You've just thought my ass was always this big, then?” He shot to Ryan.

Ryan shrugged. “I love your ass.”

“Oh, I know you do, baby,” Brendon commented. He squirmed and pulled, and tried to tighten his glutes, as if that would make his ass smaller. The fabric still wasn't budging to make a move down his ass.

Looking slightly amused, Ryan watched Brendon, and Brendon realized that for Ryan, this was probably the hottest thing Brendon had ever done.

Brendon gave up on the jeans, thinking of other things he could do to get them off his body. He could simply eat until his ass grew a little more, and then the jeans would rip and be loose enough to come off. Fuck, what had gotten into him? He couldn't be ridiculous. But he was so hungry . . .

“Fuck it, Ryan, I think I might need help getting out of these jeans,” he admitted.

Ryan smiled, deviously, and walked over to help Brendon out. He struggled with them, too, but he ultimately could inch them down.

“And you want my ass to get even bigger?” Brendon questioned.

“That's not the only part of you I want to make bigger,” Ryan said, his fingertips running down Brendon's chest and stopping over his abdomen.

Brendon nearly swooned at the thought.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, sorry for taking such a long time to update, and, thanks for sticking around.

Fifty pounds.  He was to gain fifty pounds.

 

From his original 145, gaining fifty would bring him to a 195, but if he were to start from Ryan's confession, thirteen pounds later, the fifty would bring him to 208.

 

In all honestly, Brendon couldn't imagine himself at that point yet.  He looked at himself in the mirror, face blank, running his hands over his torso.  His arms and shoulders were kind of toned, but nothing bulky.  His chest was flat, and while his ribcage didn't stick out, a couple ribs were visible up his sides.  Although it was normal for Brendon, it troubled him somewhat that his stomach remained perfectly flat, even after gaining thirteen pounds.  For the most part, his body seemed unchanged, but upon further inspection, Brendon could notice some differences.

 

Beside his defined v-line, his hip bones typically jutted out, and he would usually be able to feel the bone, hard and shapely, underneath the skin.  However, the figure of the bone was less prominent now, and the skin covering it was thicker—certainly not with muscle, Brendon could tell that.  He brought his hands down his hips to his thighs.  The outsides were nearly solid with muscle, and his inner thighs were softer, but now, the skin was movable with the slightest touch.

 

His ass was almost the same, upon Brendon moving to cup his own bare cheeks.  The difference was that the effect was more relevant.  He rose up on his toes and then back down.  His ass bounced.  Huh.

 

He only looked away from the mirror due to the bathroom door opening, for the second time that morning.  This time, Ryan didn't walk in to find Brendon in tears, and was instead greeted with a smile from him.

 

“Breakfast is ready when you are, lover,” Ryan announced, eyes traveling around Brendon's naked body.

 

“Thanks,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan snuck a neck kiss, and said, “I need to change my clothes, too.”

 

Brendon looked him over, and agreed.  His black shirt appeared to be ruined with the flour that stuck to it, smeared white.  His jeans faired the same.

 

Along with some of his own clothes, Ryan retrieved Brendon a pair of plain gray sweatpants and an old t-shirt.  “We don't really have to go anywhere today, do we?” Ryan asked.

 

Brendon considered.  The right thing to do would be to go shopping, but the thought filled him with dread.  He could just stay comfortable at home with Ryan, and not have to deal with the stress of buying clothes.  He rationalized, one pair of his jeans didn't fit, but maybe he could squeeze into some of his other pants.  And breakfast was ready, which meant he would be eating a lot, which meant that he would most likely get too full, which meant he would be bloated, which meant it wasn't fair to go try on clothes anyway.  “No, we don't,” Brendon answered.

 

“Good,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon put on the sweatpants, happy with their looseness on him.  He wasn't in the habit of imagining himself gaining weight just yet, but the thought did cross his mind that he would really have to eat quite a lot for the pants to become tight . . .

 

Picking out a shirt, he didn't pay much attention to what he would wear.  His mind was occupied with what Ryan had just confessed to him, and he was so hungry, he felt like he could die at any second.

 

Having someone who was so naturally gifted in the kitchen for a boyfriend ought to take its toll on his figure, Brendon knew.  He was mindful of that, more than ever, as he sat at the table, across from said boyfriend and in front of a sizable chocolate pastry.  He was unable to resist either of those things, looking at how bright Ryan’s lovely eyes were, and picking up a fork to positively devour what Ryan made for him.

 

This croissant took up his whole plate, flaky and tall, with chocolate sauce drizzled in lines across the top.  As he dug his fork in to take his first bite, a thick, creamy chocolate filling oozed out of the center and onto his plate.  Partly from overwhelming hunger, but mostly from the taste, Brendon instantly sighed out a moan as soon as it hit his tongue.  “Holy fuck, Ryan,  _ what  _ is this?” Brendon asked.

 

Ryan shrugged.  “It’s just some chocolate and cream cheese in a shell.  I know it doesn’t look too great, but . . .” 

 

As far as Brendon was concerned, it looked fantastic, but even if it didn’t, the flavor made up for it.  The pastry was rich, and Brendon’s hunger was dissipated after only a couple bites, but he knew he would end up finishing the whole thing, the huge portion of it.  Across the table, Ryan ate the same pastry, but the size of it wasn’t even half of Brendon’s.  Ryan was satisfied with that amount, too, finishing in a considerably smaller amount of time than Brendon.  A little bit self-conscious, and a little bit embarrassed, Brendon realized Ryan must have noticed how much his appetite had grown over the past couple weeks.  He wouldn’t have made Brendon such a large portion if he hadn’t.

 

“Did you barely eat, or am I eating a lot?” Brendon asked.

 

“Well, uh.” Ryan’s cheeks spotted pink.  “You said you were hungry, so I . . .”

 

Brendon felt comforted at knowing Ryan was just as bashful as he was about the whole thing.  “You really meant it, huh?” Brendon said.

 

“Meant what?”

 

“You really want me to gain weight,” Brendon stated.

 

“I–yeah.  I would, uh, like that a lot,” Ryan said.

 

“You’re so cute,” Brendon said.

 

“I just never thought I’d tell you any of this because it’s so weird and you could’ve been offended and—” Ryan rambled.

 

“I kinda wish you’d told me sooner,” Brendon said.  There was a serious implication behind it, because Brendon was never okay with Ryan hiding anything from him, or keeping secrets, but he was truly keeping the conversation light, to bring out Ryan’s confidence more.  And his own.

 

“I know.  I’m sorry,” Ryan said, barely louder than a whisper.

 

Brendon took a bite, chewed, swallowed.  “It’s okay.  I’m just saying, I wouldn’t still be so damn skinny if we talked about this more.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I like eating, and sex, and we’ve always been into the same stuff.  I think I would be a lot bigger if I knew before.”

 

Ryan bit his lip.  “I like cooking for you.”

 

Brendon ate more.  “I love your cooking, if you couldn’t tell.”

 

“Seems like you’re perfect for me,” Ryan said.

 

“I hope so.”

 

“You are, Brendon.  So perfect.”

 

Brendon’s heart fluttered.

 

The pastry was way too good, Brendon thought, as he neared his last few bites.  He felt it; it was heavy in his gut, yet he was not entirely to the point of being full.  Even as he swiped up all the extra chocolate sauce and filling, clearing his plate to the tiniest of crumbs, he felt that he could eat more.  Strangely unsatisfied.  Disappointed that it was gone.  He knew that should’ve been more than enough for him, but deep down he knew he could probably eat double the amount that he just did.  However, he didn’t say a word to Ryan, too hesitant and unsure with such a fresh topic to eat more in front of him.

 

Like always, Ryan did the dishes for both of them.  “You can just sit and relax, B, if you want,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon did just that, feeling generally content.  The clothes he wore actually felt like they fit, even after all the food, which was kind of surprising to him.  The shirt did show a hint of the curvature of his stomach, but it wasn't really that noticeable.

 

After doing the dishes, Ryan sat beside him at the table once more.  “I know we said we wouldn't go anywhere today, but did you want to go shopping for new clothes?” Ryan asked.  “If you feel like you need new jeans . . .”

 

“I don't want to go today.  I probably have other pants that fit,” Brendon dismissed.

 

“Okay.  Then I just want to spend the day with you, holding you, giving you cuddles.”

 

Brendon smiled.  “I want cuddles,” he said.

 

Ryan took his hand and lead him to the couch, where they curled up with each other.  Brendon noticed that Ryan was being touchy, but it wasn't anything different from normal.  Ryan's arms were around his waist, his nose pressed into Brendon's neck, his hips against Brendon's thigh.  The feeling of Ryan's body there was the most comfortable thing Brendon could experience, and Brendon buried himself in Ryan's arms.

 

As nice as it was, Brendon's mind was in a few different places.  “Hey, love?” Brendon asked.

 

“Yes?” Ryan hummed into Brendon's skin.

 

“How long did you think about me gaining weight before now?” Brendon wondered.

 

Ryan nestled in closer to Brendon.  “I think since we first started dating, maybe even before that.”

 

Ryan had been hiding this for a considerably long amount of time, then.  “And what did you first think about, way back then?” Brendon asked.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What were your fantasies?  What was the first fantasy you had about me gaining weight?  I'm too curious.”

 

“Shit, Brendon, I'm not sure you want to hear that,” Ryan said, seeming to tense up.

 

“Oh, come on, it's just me.  I know, like, all of your other sexual fantasies about me, and all of them are very, very appealing.”

 

“Like what?” Ryan questioned.

 

Brendon chuckled.  He was the shameless one when it came to sex, and he was glad about that at the moment.  “I don't know, like how you want me tied down and helpless when you fuck me, or how you want me to beg and cry for your cock out of deserpation, or how—”

 

“Okay, okay, I'll tell you,” Ryan interrupted.  Brendon smiled.  It was rare that he didn't get his way with Ryan.  Ryan grasped onto both of Brendon's hands, and looked him in the eyes.  He swallowed dryly.  “We were on our first tour, and you were wearing these skin-tight women’s jeans, and I was just checking out your ass.  And, Brendon, just that alone is enough to get me going, because you have a dream body, but then again, your ass has always been . . . generous.  But at the time I just let myself keep thinking, and I pictured your ass in those jeans, growing, and your hips getting wider, until you looked nothing short of pretty damn chubby, instead of that skinny little thing you were, and I could imagine your jeans splitting down the back, and pretty much just tearing off of you.  So, then, I thought you'd be all embarrassed and flustered over it, and I would just fuck you right there while you were like that, and—remind me why I'm telling you all this again?” Ryan said.

 

“Because your fantasies are always fucking hot, and I want to know what part about me gaining weight is attractive to you.”

 

“Everything about it is attractive to me.  You know, I tried to stop thinking about it while we’ve been together—not that it really worked—but I thought about it a lot this morning, and just the concept of you gaining weight turns me on.”

 

Brendon shook his head.  “I seriously can't believe we didn't start this sooner.  But, then again, if I started gaining weight when we first got together . . . I’d be fat as a house by now.”  Brendon blinked at the ceiling, a bit lost in thought over that.

 

Ryan groaned softly in the crook of Brendon's neck.  “I seriously can't believe you're going to try to gain weight,” Ryan said.

 

“It's already started,” Brendon pointed out.  “My jeans don't fit anymore, my appetite’s grown, my  _ ass _ has grown . . . and you know what?  It feels good.”

 

“Yeah . . . I'm really glad you like it, too.  I couldn't handle this if you weren't happy, you know.”

 

“I know.  But I really do feel happy eating all the time.”

 

“Good.  Good.”

 

“Oh, yeah, Ryan?  Another thing.  Was that thing you made this morning the most fattening thing in your cookbooks?”

 

“Not even close,” Ryan said.

 

“Really?  It tasted so good, I thought it would have to be really bad.”

 

“I could make it more fattening, if you wanted.  It could use a lot more butter, some extra sugar and chocolate, heavy cream instead of just milk . . .”

 

“You seem like you know what you're doing.”

 

“I'm making my love happier, and if he wants more fattening food, then he'll get it,” Ryan said, and kissed Brendon's nose, playfully.

 

“I could do with more calories in my diet,” Brendon said.

 

“You could,” Ryan agreed, whispering.

 

“You're so shy, baby.  Please don't be,” Brendon said.

 

“B-but I should be, I should give you space and let you think about this, I should—”

 

Brendon leaned forward to press his lips to Ryan's, quieting him.  “Haven't you noticed, baby, that I always take your desires and make them mine?  Just so I can really please you?  That's what  _ I _ really want, and if I get to eat all day and get admired by you with that, then even better.”

 

Ryan gulped.

 

“I want to know exactly how you want me,” Brendon pushed, “so I can give it to you.”

 

“I want you softer, and bigger, but I want you happy.  I want you to be pleased, too, Brendon.”

 

“You're sweet.  I will be.”

 

Ryan was still being blushy and timid, but Brendon was looking for the confident, bossy Ryan he knew in the recording studio and in bed.  Brendon needed his guidance on this weight gaining he was going to be doing, and wanted more reassurance that Ryan was really into it.  So, instead of waiting for some mystical force to break Ryan's mood, Brendon did it himself, climbing in Ryan's lap, facing him.  Ryan's lips parted as he looked up at him, and Brendon kissed him yet again.

 

“Show me,” Brendon said, and took Ryan's hands, placed them on his hips, “show me how you've dreamed of having me.”

 

“Fucking dammit, B,” Ryan said, and initiated the kisses between words this time, “you make me weak.”

 

Brendon smirked.  “Talk to me,” he said, against Ryan's lips, “tell me how you've thought about me.”

 

Ryan's fingers dipped under the waistband of Brendon's sweatpants.  “I've always thought you were stunning,” Ryan murmured, and began inching his pants down his thighs, palms flat on Brendon's waist.  “But you know that.”  Brendon's body was reacting to Ryan's words and touches already, his cock half hard, shivers running up his spine as Ryan circled his fingertips lightly over his skin.  “Your hips have always driven me insane, too.  But, fuck, lover, imagine having more, being bigger, if I had some softness to squeeze and hold at times like this . . .”

 

The bone of Brendon's hips still stuck out enough for Ryan to locate them easily, and he pressed the heels of his hands against them.  Brendon bucked his hips forward at the contact, unable to help the fact his arousal was getting the best of him.

 

“You're such a little thing, B, you could use a few extra pounds on you.”  His hands moved around to Brendon's ass, cupping his bare cheeks under the fabric.  “Although you are off to a good start . . .”

 

Brendon couldn't contain a sound dangerously close to a whimper at the feeling of Ryan kneading his ass.  It all felt so different now, since he was aware of the weight he’d put on, and the idea of putting on more.  His ass was definitely softer, and it felt so good to have Ryan's fingers sinking into his skin like that, Ryan's intention being to feel the added weight.  Brendon couldn't help but daydream about what it would be like when his ass really was fatter; how it would feel to have Ryan touching him then.  He imagined it would be heaven, that he’d be more sensitive to simple touches, that Ryan would be even more turned on than he was in the present.

 

“You like how that feels, baby boy?” Ryan said.

 

Brendon nodded, legs buckling as Ryan kissed his neck, forcing him to fall on his ass, caught by Ryan's legs.  Ryan looked pleased with himself, and took the initiative to turn them over.  Brendon laid on his back, legs splayed open for Ryan to kneel between.  Ryan's hands travelled up his shirt this time, lips locking with Brendon's for a deep kiss, sucking on his bottom lip before pulling away.  His fingers played along Brendon's ribs.  “All your weight’s gonna go to your hips, isn't it?” Ryan said.  He kissed him again, and pulled away with a, “Have I told you lately that you're beautiful?  Because you are.”

 

“Keep talking, fuck . . .” Brendon breathed.

 

Ryan's eyes were dark, dark, and Brendon squirmed underneath him.  “You’ll love gaining.  I know you will.  Just letting me take care of you, eating as much as you want, you can just relax.”  Ryan reached down to palm at Brendon's cock, and Brendon tossed his head back.  It really didn't matter what Ryan said to him, Brendon thought, everything would get him going.  While Brendon was distracted with the direct pressure to his cock, Ryan carefully pulled his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs, replacing the palm of his hand with a fist around Brendon's cock.

 

“Anything for you,” Brendon said, breathless, whining.

 

On the flesh of Brendon's inner thigh, Ryan attached his lips, stroking the smooth skin of Brendon's other leg.  “Your thighs, baby boy, so soft already . . .” Ryan said.

 

Brendon was so close to coming—his vision went white as Ryan spread his legs further, and buried his head between his thighs.

 

<<<<<>>>>

 

Very gradually, Ryan became more open when it came to his desires, much to Brendon's relief.  Brendon was more affectionate than ever with him, in an attempt to ease him where he was self-conscious; assure him that everything really was okay.

 

Brendon, for some reason, seemed to be heading in the opposite direction of being more closed-off.  Even after knowing full well that Ryan would love to watch him eat, Brendon felt the need to be more conservative.  Whenever he ate to the point of feeling full, when he could see and feel that he was bloated, he knew and accepted that it would contribute to his weight gain; that it would truly begin sticking to his body.  That wasn't the bad part.  It was just when he felt he was gorging himself in front of Ryan, he felt so undesirable, so ashamed.

 

The right thing to do would be to open up to Ryan about it, as Ryan had graciously done for Brendon, upon his request.  Ryan was trying to make it more natural to tell Brendon his visions and fantasies, what he wanted.  This attributed to the procrastination on going shopping for new clothes, even as Brendon tried on every pair of jeans in his possession, only to find them ill-fitting.  Or, by Ryan's standards, they looked “so tight, so hot” on Brendon, fabric straining around his hips, buttons gaping open.  “Just wear these, sweetheart.  I'm the only one who gets to see you, and what a sight . . .” Ryan trailed off, at the point where Brendon was on his sixth pair of jeans that wouldn't button.  And so, they were worn around the house.

 

Brendon would deal with the consequences of such procrastination at a later date, but for now, lust took primary drive.

 

Basically, Brendon felt that he owed it to not only Ryan, but also himself to bring up the topic of his lingering insecurities.  He liked gaining weight, and the process was more enjoyable than even Ryan was able to make it sound, but it would be optimized further if he could eat without worry.

 

They were laying in bed together one morning, before Ryan got up to dutifully go cook, and Brendon couldn’t help but wonder how hard it would be this morning to resist truly eating until he was completely full, and why he even bothered resisting.  Instead of letting himself get too lost in his own thoughts over the matter, he decided he would ask Ryan about it, and see what he had to say.  Brendon traced his fingers down Ryan’s side, and asked, “Hey, Ryan?”

 

“Hmm?”   
  


“Do you like watching me eat?  Like, is that a thing for you, or—?”

 

Ryan huffed out a laugh.  "Of course I like watching you eat.  You know that."

 

"What if I told you that I feel like I haven't been eating enough?" Brendon inquired, stopping the movement of his fingers up and down Ryan's torso.

 

"Then I would say you should eat more," Ryan said, cheekily.

 

"Really?"

 

"Well, yeah.  I don't want you going hungry."

 

Ryan made it sound like it was the obvious choice to make, and Brendon knew that it was, but something inside him kept nagging—what if Ryan thought he was gross for upping his food intake even more?  “I can’t imagine you being into it when I think about eating so much, so I always stop before I get to the point of actually being full,” Brendon explained.  “I never really feel like I’m full anymore.”

 

“That’s just ridiculous.  I’ll always make you more food, you know.”

 

“I don’t want you to be put off by it, though, because I get so bloated and damn lazy after I eat, and you’ve only talked about wanting my hips and ass bigger, not anywhere else, and eating anyway isn’t conventionally attractive, and I don’t—”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Brendon,” Ryan uttered quietly, “I don’t know how else to tell you that’s what I  _ want _ .  I want you to eat, and be lazy, and eat some more, and you’ll gain weight, but I’ll love it more than you can possibly realize.  And that’s what it sounds like you want too, so I don’t think you have any reason to be holding back.”

 

“What if I’m embarrassed when I eat?”   
  


“You’re pretty when you eat.  And I love pretty things.”  Ryan reached up to hold Brendon’s face, make eye contact.

 

“But I get bloated,” Brendon repeated, “and I didn’t think you would like that.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I like that?  You need some belly to go with that ass, B.  That’s a positive for eating too much.”

 

Brendon fell silent.  His doubts had been totally wrong.  Ryan wanted him to eat more.  Brendon felt dumb for questioning it.

 

“Are you okay?  If you don’t want to go through with this, then it’s okay, lover, we don’t have to keep—”

 

“I’m hungry,” Brendon said.  “And I really don’t want this to stop.”

 

Ryan grinned at him.  “Good.  I’ll make sure to give you extra, sweetheart.”

 

Before that day, Brendon had never eaten so much in his life.  Breakfast was two stuffed omelettes, served to him one at a time, stuffed with cheese and ham, larger than any omelet he’d ever seen before.  He finished it with ease, and would've kept going if Ryan hadn't run out of eggs.  “I'm impressed, B.  Eight eggs by yourself—I could never do it,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon felt extra gluttonous at those words.  “That's because you're too tiny,” he replied.

 

Ryan rolled his eyes and ruffled Brendon's hair, kissed Brendon's forehead.  “Did you have enough to eat?  You're looking a bit full . . .” Ryan teased, and looked down at Brendon from where he sat.  Brendon quickly looked down at his body and felt himself flush.  He wore his usual basketball shorts, and the first black t-shirt he found that morning, one that was already a size too small on him before he started gaining weight.  After eating all that food, his stomach stuck out, the bottom of the curve visible beneath the hem of his shirt.

 

Of course Ryan would notice these things before him.

 

Their conversation earlier that morning seemed to have sparked something in Ryan, as he was doing more to directly encourage Brendon's weight gain than he ever had. Just after that huge breakfast, he guided Brendon to lounge on the couch.  He handed Brendon the TV remote, a video game controller, and a large bag of chips to keep him preoccupied.  Brendon eyed the bag of chips, starting up his video game.  He thought, he shouldn't.  He was full, he had just polished off two omelettes— _ eight fucking eggs— _ by himself, but, Ryan was leaning in and whispering in his ear, reminiscent of what they'd spoke of earlier, “You are so pretty when you eat.  I don't want this to stop either.”

 

Brendon shuddered and tore the bag open.  Ryan had such an affect on him, hell, he’d do whatever Ryan said.

 

Ryan patted his thigh, and walked away to clean up from breakfast.

 

The bag of chips was empty by the time Ryan presented him with lunch—leftovers from the night before, meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  Brendon's plate was a heaping portion, but it didn't intimidate him.  He felt he could always eat Ryan's home cooking, and once he started, it was way too flavorful, he had no resistance to stop.  Nearing the end of the plate, he felt somewhat of almost a struggle to finish it, getting to the point of being full.  Satisfying.  His bloat from breakfast had gone down, but now it was back, giving him a rounded out stomach.

 

It felt so good, and he didn't even have to get up.  Ryan was really doing everything for him.  Never had it been easy for him to sit still or be lazy, but this was something else.  He had no desire to get up and do anything.  Just eating.  As soon as his plate was cleared, he wanted more food to replace it, no matter how full he was.

 

Dinner was where Brendon experienced something truly remarkable.  “I hate to make you get up,” Ryan told him, “but I don't want to serve you dinner here, the bowls might be too hot,” Ryan explained.

 

Ryan took Brendon's hand, not really doing anything to help Brendon up, but the notion was there.  “You're too good to me,” Brendon said.

 

“You deserve to be spoiled a bit,” Ryan retorted, “and I wanna spoil you.”

 

Brendon chuckled.  “You're sweet.”

 

On the kitchen stove, there were several pots, one on every burner, varying sizes.  Brendon followed Ryan all the way into the kitchen, where Ryan went to stir something, and Brendon wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist.

 

“Why don't you get us some beers, baby boy, and go sit down.  I've got this,” Ryan told him, skimming his fingertips over Brendon's knuckles.

 

Brendon reluctantly slipped away from Ryan, and swung open the refrigerator door.  “What did you make?” He asked, taking two bottles between the fingers of one hand.

 

“A shit ton of pasta.”

 

Brendon raised an eyebrow.  “Really now?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan laughed.  “We need bigger pots, so I don't have to deal with this.”  He gestured to the mess on the stovetop.  “All of this is pasta, and then—” he picked up one pan—“some sauce.”

 

“You're so good,” Brendon fawned.

 

“I don't know, I mean, we’ll have leftovers tomorrow.”

 

“Maybe,” Brendon said with a wink, and sauntered back to the table.

 

Laying around all day had done nothing to make him more energetic, instead filling him with a vague drowsiness.  It had been several hours since lunch, giving him time to get slightly hungry again, enough for the aroma of the food to spark his craving.

 

He placed a beer at each of his and Ryan’s places at the table, just as Ryan set bowls down on the table.  As he sits, he takes in the sight of the cheesy macaroni Ryan had just cooked, along with herbal garlic bread on the side.  Brendon was still amazed that Ryan pulled these things off, and the best way he could show his appreciation was to dig in.

 

Like everything else Ryan had made in the past, it was stupidly addictive.  Ryan was taking it slow, clearly critical of his own work.  He sneered.  “It could use more . . . spice.  Something hotter.  This is bland,” Ryan stated.

 

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about,” Brendon said, through a mouthful of food.

 

Ryan chuckled.  “Well, I'm glad you like it, babe.  That's what really matters.”

 

Brendon had his portion devoured in minutes, pushing forkfuls of pasta past his lips before swallowing the last bite.  The bread provided a contrast, and a good way to scoop up extra sauce.

 

It wasn't just the beer intoxicating him at that point; it was also the food.  When Ryan asked if he wanted more, he eagerly agreed to it.  Ryan got up and served it for him, giving him another piece of bread as well.

 

“I want you to try it with some cayenne this time, and let me know how it is,” Ryan said.  He placed the portion in front of Brendon, and leaned over his shoulder.  His long fingers played over the bottle of spice, delicately sprinkling it on top of the pasta until he was pleased.

 

“Thanks, baby.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Brendon went after it again, and Ryan was right.  If possible, the meal was even better with the added spice, making it all the more irresistible.

 

Uncannily similar to the first night they had gotten home from tour, Brendon was too caught up in the actual food to notice how much of it he was really packing in, especially as he encouraged Ryan serving him a third portion.  Ryan complied.  He seemed smug about it, and Brendon, somewhat seductively, made eye contact with him as he took another bite.

 

Ryan bit his lip and gulped.

 

The pasta kept going down easily, but Brendon could feel that he may have been running out of room.  Didn't matter, he decided.  Things seemed kind of hazy as he closed his eyes with every bite.  It was so good, it was almost sexual.  He supposed that for Ryan, it was.  Okay, maybe he was starting to see his point of view too.  Ryan kept giving him more, and he didn't even have to ask.  Was it his fourth portion, or his fifth?  He wasn't sure anymore.

 

But, fuck, he was full, he realized all at once.

 

At the same time, he felt something else; almost euphoric, akin to arousal.  He believed he was moaning as he ate.  “More,” he groaned, and there was constantly more pasta served to him.

 

He could feel pressure in his stomach, and if he thought about it, it was like he could feel the stretch it took to fit all this food in him.  He was truly stuffing himself, he had never been this full—but he wanted to keep going, something driving him to make himself feel fuller, heavier, bigger.

 

His fork hit the bottom of the bowl, the food gone, and a hiccup jolted through him.  The motion demanded his focus to the heavy pain in his gut, and it left him panting.

 

“I hope you didn't want more, baby boy, ‘cause it's all gone.”

 

“No, this was—” another hiccup—“plenty.”

 

“You ate almost three pounds of macaroni on your own, lover.  Thought that would be more than enough to fill you up,” Ryan said.

 

“Did I really eat that much?” Brendon managed to ask.  His stomach churned—literally—his body trying to process all that food.

 

“Uh-huh,” Ryan confirmed.

 

Brendon rested back against the chair, trying to give his own stomach room to expand.  He hiccuped once more, a testament to how stuffed he was, and groaned from the strangely satisfying pleasure it brought.  “Fuck, it hurts,” Brendon breathed.  He was sort of gasping, the amount of food crammed in him pressing against his lungs.  Mindlessly, he brought a hand down to his abdomen, with the intent of resting it on the general area of the ache, and was surprised when he was met with bare skin instead of his shirt’s fabric.

 

Slowly, he looked down.  His shirt had completely ridden up while he’d been eating, revealing his swollen gut.  The skin was taut and a light pink color, and Brendon was fascinated—he had never seen himself like that.  He moved his hand around the surface, feeling how round and hard it was, as though he had swallowed a basketball whole.  “I think I might've overdone it,” Brendon murmured to Ryan—who was standing beside him—and let his eyes fall closed, hand still moving over his abdomen in interest.

 

“Aw, baby boy, I’m sure you'd be asking for more if it was here,” Ryan replied, and carded a hand through Brendon's hair.

 

“You're right,” Brendon agreed, letting his head loll back into Ryan's palm.  “I'm thankful there isn't.  I’d probably pop.” He hiccuped once more, and sighed.  “Too much . . .” He said, smoothing a circle over the protrusion of his stomach.

 

Ryan looked him in the eyes, and Brendon could see a dark passion, the same as when he and Ryan made love.  Tentatively, Ryan reached out a hand towards Brendon's midsection, and asked, “May I?”

 

Brendon took the hint, and moved his hand away from his skin with a nod.  It all felt very ritualistic, how Ryan knelt at his side, placed both hands lightly on his newly-formed gut.  Brendon shuddered at the sensation of Ryan's fingertips on him.  His cheeks suddenly felt hot.  Silently, Ryan rubbed his hands over his stomach, the touch ghosting and lacking firmness.  Then, as Brendon could feel himself relaxing with Ryan touching him, he pressed his fingers into his abdomen, with a gentle bit of pressure.  He looked up at Brendon for affirmation, with questioning eyes, and Brendon could only reply truthfully.  “Feels good,” Brendon said.

 

“That's good, we don't want it to hurt too much . . .” Ryan said.

 

Ryan was making him feel better, soothing him.  He seemed lost in touching Brendon, but Brendon didn't mind.  Brendon was too relaxed; slipping into a daze, little groans escaping him.  He lacked awareness, until Ryan spoke to him.  “Feel any better, sweetheart?” Ryan asked.

 

Brendon's eyes fluttered open upon hearing his voice.  “Hmm?”

 

“Oh, dear.  You're falling asleep.  Let's get you into bed.”

 

Standing up and walking didn't seem like the most appealing idea, but Brendon didn't protest when Ryan helped him up.  Ryan wrapped an arm around his waist and walked him to the bedroom.  Brendon let him, and he sat down heavily on the bed as soon as they were there.  Ryan rested one hand on the part of Brendon's middle that stuck out the farthest, and used the other to pull his shirt off him.  He kissed Brendon's parted lips and said, “Why don't you lay down.  I know you must be exhausted.”

 

Brendon nodded again, and eased himself back on the pillows.  His stomach made a noise.  Ryan massaged it.

 

He was too tired to keep his eyes open, and the moment they closed, sleep was coming over him.  His last thought was of how stuffed he was, and then he was asleep, Ryan's hand warm and soothing on his gut.

 

When he awoke in the morning, Ryan was laying in bed with him, the palm of his hand fitting perfectly over the slightest bump of his midsection.

 

It hadn’t all gone to his hips.

 

He smiled drowsily, and Ryan's thumb moved over the skin as his stomach growled.


	4. Chapter 4

“You have the most adorable little tummy.”

 

“That's just because I'm fucking  _ full _ .”

 

Ryan tutted.  “Whatever you say, sweetheart.  Your shirts beg to differ.”

 

In a way that mirrored self consciousness, Brendon looked at his reflection.  There was no denying he’d gained weight—thirty pounds so far, in fact—especially in the clothes he was wearing.  His underwear showed off the softness of his hips and thighs.  The shirt he wore stopped above his navel, a protrusion of his midsection poking out underneath, currently rounded with the breakfast he just ate.  He rubbed a hand over it, and felt strangely proud.  Ryan's smirk right over his shoulder naturally helped with that, too.

 

He wasn't lying when he said he was full, the pressure in his stomach feeling heavy.  It made him want to get off his feet and await his next meal, but he knew he should probably get dressed into something more than underwear.  He was also tempted to weigh himself again, to make sure that the number he saw on the scale last night was still there.

 

Remaining in front of the mirror, Ryan's hand replaced Brendon's on his ‘little tummy,’ and Brendon hummed in content.  Whenever Ryan touched him like this, it was so nice, it made Brendon want to stuff himself more, just so Ryan would massage him.

 

“You really are full, hmm?” Ryan asked Brendon, feeling his abdomen’s tightness from all the food.

 

“Mm hmm.”

 

“Why don't you go lay down for a little bit, then?  No point in working so hard.” Ryan trailed a line to kisses down Brendon's neck.  “I'll take care of you,” he breathed in Brendon's ear.

 

Brendon was about to reply when he was startled, Ryan's phone ringing loudly, forcing a hiccup out of him.  Ryan smiled at him in the mirror, and his hands lingered on Brendon before reaching to answer the phone.

 

Ryan left the room to talk to whoever was calling, and Brendon quickly grew bored and tired without him there.  After the huge breakfast Ryan had just made for him, Brendon could go for a nap.  It was nearly routine for this to happen, in the few weeks since he’d been trying to gain weight.  He wandered to bed and laid on his back, hoping for Ryan to come snuggle him.

Even though he was completely full, he couldn't resist taking one of the bite sized candies from the bowl on his nightstand.  Ryan had to self-indulge sometimes, too, Brendon realized, and that came with putting packages of individually wrapped chocolates on both of their bedsides.  They were too good; Brendon always had to have one—at least—whenever he laid down.

 

He chewed slowly, mindlessly reaching for another candy before he swallowed.  The process repeated, and Brendon could feel every bite in his gut, almost past capacity.  He didn't know why he gave into the temptation so easily, but he kept going until he really couldn't anymore.  He was more bloated than before, stomach sticking up in defiance of his softened sides.

 

Ryan was taking longer than Brendon had expected on the phone, and Brendon needed something to occupy him.  With one hand on his distended middle, he leaned over to steal a book off Ryan's bedside table.  He worked on soothing his gut, unsettled from the small movement, before he began reading.

 

He was only a couple pages in when Ryan entered the room.  Brendon put his book down and looked up at Ryan, who greeted him with a, “Hey, beautiful.”

 

“Hey,” Brendon said.  “Who called?”

 

Ryan rounded the bed, sunk his knees into the mattress.  “It was Zack.”

 

“Oh, yeah? What did he have to say?”

 

“Just checking in.  Tour in September and October again?”

 

Brendon nodded.  “Sounds good.  Where to?”

 

“Europe.  It’ll only be three or four weeks if we go,” Ryan said.

 

“That'll be nice,” Brendon said.  He gave Ryan a kiss on the lips, and Ryan held himself over him, a hand on either side of his shoulders.  Brendon closed his eyes, and tugged Ryan down to kiss him harder.

 

Ryan was first to pull away.  “I don't want us to get too carried away.  The other thing he said is that he wants us to go out with him tonight.  He's got a new girlfriend, and wants to do a double date?”

 

“Okay,” Brendon said. “We can do that.”

 

“Good.”  Ryan kissed him again, and settled to lay down beside him.

 

“Who's the girl?”

 

“I don't know.  He said he met her on the last show of tour, so.”

 

“Mm,” Brendon hummed, noncommittally.  “Is it a fancy thing, or what?”

 

“Nah, it's just casual.”

 

Out of habit, Brendon reached over to curl his fingers in Ryan's hair.  “I need new pants,” Brendon mentioned.  Just like that, Ryan eyes took on a whole new look, and Brendon felt smug.

 

Seriously, though, if they were to go out, he needed bigger jeans.  There was no way he was going to be squeezing himself into anything he owned anymore.  None of them even buttoned fifteen pounds ago.

 

“What's wrong with the ones you have now?” Ryan joked, and Brendon rolled his eyes.

 

“Too tight,” Brendon complained.

 

“Of course.  Well, we have time for you to go try stuff on and buy.  You'll need a few pairs.”

 

“Yeah . . .” Brendon bit his lip.  “What am I gonna wear to go shopping, then?”

 

“You could always try the jeans again,” Ryan said.

 

“They won't fit, I can't wear them out in public,” Brendon insisted.

 

Ryan raised his eyebrows.  “I mean, what else would you wear, babe?”

 

Brendon broke eye contact and felt his cheeks go pink.  “I don't know, sweatpants?” He mumbled.

 

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” Ryan said, eyeing him.

 

Shorts—although they remained fitting enough to be acceptable—wouldn't do, as he couldn't reveal the hickeys all over his thighs to the public.  He had Ryan to blame for that.  Sweatpants seemed to be the only option, yet were slightly humiliating.  Brendon was always one to dress up when he went out, a little bit more formal than necessary.

 

“That’s settled then,” Brendon said, and swung himself out of bed to get ready.

 

Ryan followed behind him.  “Are you sure?  I mean—”

 

“Yeah, it's just a little embarrassing.  It's okay, though, I don't care that much.”

 

“I can go bring you something back, if you want me to.  I can get whatever size you want, just let me know.  It is kinda my fault.” Ryan slipped his hands down to rest on Brendon's bare hips, looking at him with concern.

 

“How dare you treat me so well,” Brendon laughed.  “It's not a big deal.  I need to try stuff on.”

 

“Okay, B, I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

 

“I'm okay.”  He couldn't resist pressing a quick kiss to Ryan's lips before turning away.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Ryan sat in the confined space of a dressing room, at the back of some store in the mall, watching Brendon change in and out of various pairs of jeans.  Brendon wanted his approval on everything, and with the pairs that were really too small, he needed help getting out of them.  Ryan appeared to be in heaven, loving everything he tried on, even if the pair happened to be too small.  He was checking out his ass the whole time, Brendon could tell, but it only made him feel good about himself.

 

Brendon felt like nothing really fit or looked suitable on him, until he found more black skinny jeans that were similar to the ones he had just outgrown.  They still didn't fit perfectly—Brendon didn't think he would find any that would—but they were acceptable, and Brendon liked the feel of them, the overall look.  While loose around his waist, the fabric hugged his hips, thighs, and ass, showing them off.

 

“You look good,” Ryan said to him, for the millionth time since they'd been at the mall.

 

“I think I want these,” Brendon replied, examining his reflection in the mirror again.

 

“Okay.  What size are they? I’ll go get you more in that size if you like it,” Ryan said.

 

“Uh—” Brendon looked at the tag sticking out by his hip—“a women’s ten?”

 

Ryan nodded.  “You're cute,” he said, looking Brendon up and down.

 

Brendon faintly blushed.  “Thanks.”

 

He bought and took home five pairs of jeans out of the twenty or more that he had tried on.  This had taken a few hours, but it was worth it.  Brendon definitely felt more comfortable in these.

 

It was early to be heading to the restaurant, but too close to the time they were supposed to meet Zack and his girlfriend to go back home.  “We can order an appetizer or something before they get there,” Ryan decided.

 

“I'm hungry,” Brendon said.  His stomach did feel empty, growling demandingly at him.

 

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Ryan told him.

 

His stomach growled louder, this time so Ryan could hear, and Brendon groaned softly.  He brought a hand to his abdomen, but it didn't do anything to help him.  He just needed something to fill him up.  Thinking of the wait for a table at the restaurant, and then the wait for any food, Brendon felt almost miserable.

 

With another gurgle from his stomach, Brendon whined, “Ryan. Can we stop somewhere? Please? I'm starving.”

 

“Baby boy, we shouldn't—”

 

“Please, Ryan?” Brendon begged, knowing Ryan would give in.

 

“Alright, B.  I can find something for you.”

 

Ryan spotted a fast food place in a few moments, and Brendon was extremely thankful.  “What do you want?” Ryan asked, as they pulled up to the drive-through.

 

Everything on the menu looked way too good, Brendon thought.  Although he knew he had the ability to eat a lot, he also knew he should try to hold back in order to eat dinner when they were out.  “Just a cheeseburger,” Brendon said, “and a small fry.”

 

Ryan quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Is that all?” Ryan questioned, and that was it.  Brendon broke.

 

“Um.  I'll have a double quarter pounder with cheese instead.  And a large fry.  And, uh, make it two?” Brendon asked.

 

“That's more like it,” Ryan said.  “We can't have you going hungry, now, can we?”

 

“No,” Brendon pouted, “you won't let that happen.”

 

Brendon ate in the parking lot, trying to scarf it down quickly so they would make it on time.  Ryan stole some of his fries, to which Brendon held them possessively to his chest and exaggeratedly glared at him.  After laughing at him, Ryan started watching him eat—not to Brendon's surprise at all.

 

He took large bites out of the burger, which was effective for both saving time and getting rid of his pangs of hunger.  Downing the first one in only a few bites, he felt fairly full, but started in on the second one, anyway.  There was no reason for it to go to waste, Brendon thought.

 

With the first, he had eaten too fast to really taste it, so with the second, he appreciated the flavor.  He ate, and sighed into the bite, and thanked Ryan for stopping for him, and ate some more.

 

By the time he finished all the food, every fry at the bottom of the bag, he was almost uncomfortably full.  Eating so fast would do that to him more easily than when he could take his time.  However, he preferred dealing with that to bearing an empty stomach.  He swore he used to have more willpower when it came to avoiding food, but that was clearly destroyed.

 

Ryan cleared his throat.  “Good job, lover.  You're impressive.”

 

Brendon licked his lips, and said, “I think that was a bit much for me, but oh well.”

 

“I think you needed it,” Ryan said.

 

His shirt felt a bit tight around his middle—they hadn't bought any new ones—but it was long enough that it didn't ride up.  Brendon pushed it up his torso anyway, resting both hands on his round gut.  It was still quite small in comparison to how he thought it would be after gaining thirty pounds, as his new weight wasn't evenly distributed.  Yet the little tummy Ryan liked to talk about was starting to get noticeable, especially after he ate.

 

Brendon hadn't had time to become fully adjusted to his recently acquired figure, and felt a hint of surprise whenever he saw himself.  “Ryan, look at this,” Brendon sighed, patting his gut lightly.

 

Ryan looked at him and clenched his jaw.  “Fuck, Brendon,” Ryan said, “you're so hot, you have no idea.”

 

Brendon shook his head and watched Ryan turn away, pressing the heel of his hand into his crotch, and started the car again.

 

“What's Zack going to say about all this?” Ryan wondered out loud, taking a hand off the wheel to touch Brendon's exposed and swollen tummy.

 

At those words, Brendon froze up.  This was the first time anyone besides Ryan was going to see him since he gained weight, and he had to admit that it brought him immediate nerves.  “I can still hide it, I'm small enough—” Brendon rushed to get the words out.

 

Ryan gave him a curious look, and asked, “Is that what you want to do?”

 

“I don't know, I just—” Brendon's eyes wandered, and he pulled his shirt down.  “You know what?  No, I don't want to hide it.  Fuck it.  I'm just gonna get bigger, you know?  I can't hide it forever,” he decided.

 

“Good decision,” Ryan said.  “Besides, I can see it in your face.”  He leaned over and cupped Brendon's face in one hand, squishing his cheeks and making Brendon giggle.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Walking into the restaurant, Ryan wrapped an arm around Brendon's waist, holding him close.  Somehow, that alone made Brendon feel protected and secure, and he held his head high to greet Zack and his new girlfriend.  They sat in a booth, Brendon pressed to Ryan's side.  He didn't feel like he was getting any weird looks, so he found it easier to act normal.

 

The new girlfriend was a sweet, brunette girl, who Brendon was genuinely glad Zack had found.  She seemed like a steady balance for him.  Although she and Zack had met at a show, she wasn’t a huge Panic! fan or anything, which was nice.  Brendon didn’t particularly feel like talking about their own music, and he knew Ryan never did.

 

Zack, on the other hand, had more of a right to talk about said things, no matter how much Ryan and Brendon would prefer to avoid it.  “Back on the road again in five weeks, huh?” He said.

 

“Guess so,” Ryan said.

 

“Europe’s always fun,” Brendon grinned, staying optimistic.

 

“Are you guys ready for it?” Zack asked.

 

“I feel like we just got home,” Ryan admitted.  “It’s only been, what, a month?”

 

“No way.  It’s had to have been longer than that,” Brendon said.  Ryan was right in that the time had passed quickly, but Brendon couldn’t bring himself to believe he had gained thirty pounds in four weeks.  That couldn’t be possible.

 

Ryan cocked his head at him.  “Maybe a little bit,” he said, and shrugged.  “You been bored?” Ryan challenged, meeting his eyes playfully.

 

“No, definitely not.”

 

“What have you guys been up to since you've been home?” Zack piped in.

 

_ Eating _ , Brendon thought.  “I've started cooking everything,” Ryan said.

 

“Really?” Zack said, questioning and disbelieving.

 

“He's so talented.  It's some of the best food I've ever had.  Good hobby,” Brendon said.

 

“Apparently,” Zack mumbled, eyeing Brendon.

 

Beside him, Ryan's mood seemed to flip.  He pulled Brendon in tighter, narrowed his eyes at Zack, and accused, “What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

 

Brendon felt his cheeks go pink before Zack even answered.

 

“Just that the home life has clearly been treating Brendon well,” Zack answered with a chuckle.

 

So he had noticed, Brendon thought.  Ryan looked bitter, opening his mouth like he was going say something in defense of Brendon, but Brendon interjected before he had the chance.  “It's fine, baby,” he said to Ryan. “I know I've put on some weight since we’ve been home.  And maybe that's because I appreciate Ryan's cooking a little too much, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  It's not really that big of a deal, either.”

 

“Are you gonna lose it before tour?” Zack said.

 

Brendon shrugged.  “I don't think so.”

 

“Wonder how the fans will feel about our lead singer getting fat,” Zack said, and although there was nothing insulting about it to Brendon, Zack’s girlfriend lightly smacked his arm as if he had said something horribly offensive.

 

Ryan was acting the same way.  “They're not really our fans if they're gonna hate our music because Brendon looks a little different than he did last tour,” Ryan hissed.

 

“I mean, this is different than if he just dyed his hair or got new glasses—”

 

“How is it different?” Ryan demanded, and jutted his chin forward.

 

Zack faltered.  “It's just that—he's such a public figure for the band, and you might want to be careful about anything that would jeopardize that.”

 

“I don't see how Brendon's done anything to  _ jeopardize  _ our band at all.”

 

“Ryan, you have to realize that there are fans who only stick around because they think Brendon's attractive.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“I'm saying that Brendon might want to consider how it will affect both of your careers before he goes and blows up like a balloon.”  Zack made it sound so matter-of-fact, calmly laying it out to Ryan.  Brendon could see pure, unhinged rage all over Ryan's face, and he kind of wanted to sink away into his seat to hide behind Ryan.  He also kind of wanted to kiss Ryan right on the mouth.

 

“Brendon is perfectly fine the way he is, whether he gains weight or not.  It doesn't matter to me,” Ryan persisted.

 

“Of course you're going to say that—you're his boyfriend!” Zack said.

 

“Whoa, hey, chill out,” Brendon finally stepped in.  “I understand Zack’s, uh, concerns, but I don't . . . care?  It's my body. I do what I want.”

 

Ryan's fingers smoothed across Brendon's spine, and Brendon felt glad that he was there to defend him.

 

Zack sighed defeatedly.  “Just be cautious.  I care about you guys and I don't want this to come back and bite you in the ass.”

 

Brendon rolled his eyes.  He didn't feel angry, like he supposed Ryan did, but only felt a slight irritation.  Zack couldn't tell him how to best live his life, and for Ryan . . . Brendon could fight his own battles.  He still had to admit that it felt nice to know Ryan was so protective of him.

 

When the waitress came, Brendon ordered himself a bowl of pasta, mostly out of spite.  Like he had to prove himself, or something.  It wasn't like he was even hungry—those burgers were still feeling heavy in him, stretching his stomach—but he had already decided that he was going to gain weight, and Zack was just going to have to accept that plan.

 

“Are you sure you should be getting that?” Zack asked, and it was teasing, not entirely serious.

 

Brendon concealed a laugh and said, “Yeah, and can I get an order of garlic bread as well?  Thank you.”

 

Ryan modestly ordered a soup and salad, still holding Brendon close.  Brendon leaned into his side.

 

Zack’s girlfriend started regular conversation again, and everything went back to normal between Ryan and Zack.  Due to the way Ryan and Brendon were pressed together, Ryan managed to discreetly rub Brendon's belly under the table, trying to help it settle before Brendon ate even more.  Ryan took such good care of him.

 

Upon the pasta arriving, Brendon had a little room to eat.  His mouth watered, and he knew he had to have at least some of it.  He took a saucy, cheesy forkful, hot steam coming off the top.  “Oh, yum,” he said, and, just to be obnoxious, continued, “maybe I'll have to get a second order.”

 

“That good?” Ryan asked, and Brendon nodded.

 

“Ryan, are you really okay with this?  He's doing this on purpose, he's not even trying—” Zack said.

 

Brendon didn't try to hold back a laugh.  He felt Ryan not-so-subtly nuzzle his hair, and he replied, “Of course I’m okay with this.  He's my growing boy.”  By that point, Ryan was laughing too.

 

This completely defeated Zack, who promptly turned the attention back on his girlfriend.  She simply smiled, seemingly oblivious.  Ryan pressed his lips to Brendon's neck and merely listened to the subject change.

 

Brendon went easy on himself, and took the pasta slow.  While the food was too good to resist—not that Brendon would be able to resist much of anything—he found himself having to focus on every bite, convince himself that he did have enough room to take it.  Nothing compared to Ryan's home cooking.  He’d gotten too spoiled with the addictive way he could eat and not even pay it any mind.

 

He was undeniably stuffed when he scooped the last bite into his mouth, but it surely wasn't the most full he'd ever felt at the end of a meal.  “Do you want dessert, sweetheart?” Ryan asked him, upon realizing he was finished.

 

Brendon actually considered this for a moment, then reasonably decided, “No, no.  I gotta be able to walk out of here.”

 

Ryan nodded in agreement.

 

They paid and got ready to leave, Brendon a bit distracted the whole time.  Zack left them both with a hug and the advice of, “Be careful.  Don't do anything dumb,” like he had several times before in various instances.

 

Brendon blinked innocently and said, “When have I ever done anything dumb?”

 

Ryan shook his head and lead him out of the restaurant.  Brendon felt confident and proud of himself, and also to the point of being uncomfortably stuffed.  Ryan opened the car door for him, and Brendon thanked him with a smile.

 

The dinner sure had left Brendon with a lot on his mind.  Ryan appeared to be the same, having that thoughtful expression on his face which he always did when he was caught up in his own mind—quite often, Brendon knew.  As soon as they were alone together, and were closed in the car, Brendon asked, “Ryan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Why did you get so mad at Zack?  I mean, you're not the one he was teasing, and you're not gaining weight—”

 

“Because nobody should be rude to you.  Or disrespect you.  It's just not right.”

 

“Thank you for defending me.  It's really sweet of you,” Brendon said.

 

“I can't just let people insult you,” Ryan said, as if it was common sense, completely obvious.

 

“I didn't even feel insulted.”

 

“I just didn't like the way he was talking to you.”

 

Brendon thought Ryan was taking it all a bit too seriously.  “I think it's kinda fun that he noticed I gained weight.  It makes me feel good.”

 

“Yeah?  I am proud of you for it, baby boy.  It's quite . . . striking.  It looks good on you.”

 

“Maybe  _ you _ should tease me about my weight more.  I think you would like that.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Oh,” Brendon mocked.  He plucked up one of Ryan's hands and rested it on his full, swollen little tummy.  “Feel how big I'm getting, talk about how soft my hips have gotten, how I just had to buy new pants because none of my old ones would even fit . . . You have a lot to work with, love.”

 

“You want that?” Ryan asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

 

“Please?” Brendon said, and he knew that would do the trick.

 

“When we get home,” Ryan said, “I want you naked and in bed so I can really look at you.”

 

“Haven't seen enough, baby?”

 

“Never enough.”  Ryan moved his hand over Brendon's gut, massaging it, and then moved lower, hitting the waistband of his jeans just below his belly button.  “I think you might need to unbutton these, anyway, sweetheart.  They seem a little tight, already.”

 

“Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so much,” Brendon said.  He reached past Ryan's hand to undo his pants, and let out a sigh of relief.  His stomach always filled out so much when he overate; the waistbands on jeans would always get tight on him after he was stuffed.

 

“Maybe you should've gotten dessert,” Ryan countered.  “It sounds like you would've had fun seeing Zack’s reaction to that.”

 

“Yeah, I would have,” Brendon agreed.

 

“Imagine if you had eaten that much more, B.  I think you would've had to undo these pants right there in the restaurant.   You would've been so, so full, you  _ wouldn't  _ have been able to walk out of there.  You know how obvious that would've been, if you needed my help just to stand up?”

 

Brendon cursed under his breath.  He’d asked for teasing, but he hadn't expected it while they were still in the car.  He felt his face and neck get hot with a blush.  “Fuck, Ryan, you're just so good with words, this is exactly what I mean.”

 

“You really do want everyone to know you've gained weight, don't you?” Ryan asked, and his voice was low, sultry.

 

“I—” Brendon swallowed dryly, flustered—“yes, I do.”

 

“Then I suggest you gain more,” Ryan insinuated, “until you're big enough everyone can tell that you enjoy stuffing yourself.”

 

Brendon could feel arousal stirring within him just at Ryan's tone of voice, but he could really get hard just off the thoughts Ryan was putting in his head.  He whimpered helplessly.

 

“If you keep gaining like you have been, I'll be so turned on all the time.  There's no way I'll be able to keep my hands off you.”

 

“Please touch me,” Brendon whined.  They were parked outside their house, but Brendon wasn't paying it much mind as he spread his legs in the passenger seat of the car.

 

“I wanna fuck you so hard, Brendon.  I hope you're not too full,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon shuddered.  He didn't think so.  His skin was buzzing and sensitive to any and all contact from Ryan, making him painfully hard in just a few moments.

 

Ryan took him inside and to bed, fulfilling his desires right then and there.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

With Ryan's come drying on his inner thighs, Brendon felt too loose and open to move at all, just letting his head loll back against the headboard.  Ryan had gone to fetch a warm washcloth and another bag of candy—they were almost out in their bedroom.  Brendon was craving some chocolate, and wanted to fill himself up again to his capacity before falling asleep.  It was the best way to drift off, too full to have the energy for anything, Ryan giving him a nice belly rub . . .

 

Just when Ryan was walking back in the room, Brendon's phone rang on his nightstand.  He leaned over to pick it up, and was surprised to see Pete Wentz’s name lighting up the screen.  Why his label owner, and, truly, good friend would be calling him, Brendon didn't know.

 

He answered it anyway.

 

“Hey, Brendon, how's it's going?” Pete said.

 

“Good, good.  What's up, dude?”

 

“Well, your name’s been popular in the headlines today,” Pete said.

 

“Really?  Why?  I haven't really done anything—”

 

“Google yourself,” Pete said, “you'll see.”

 

Brendon stayed on the phone as he grabbed his laptop and did exactly that.  Apparently, all the gossip websites had chosen Brendon as their topic of nonsensical reporting for the day.  It appeared that some paparazzi had secretly managed to take photos of Ryan and himself walking into the mall earlier that day—Brendon still in sweatpants.

 

The headlines of the articles was the important part, with various titles like, “Panic! At The Disco Singer: Packing on the Pounds?!” and, “Is Brendon Growing a Beer Gut?” and, Brendon's personal favorite, “Brendon Urie: Stress-Eating after Nasty Split from Ryan Ross!”  In the original photo from the paparazzi, Ryan was walking beside Brendon, although they weren't touching. A lot of the photos for the articles were focused on Brendon, and Ryan was even photoshopped out of the one that rumored their split.

 

“Oh, yeah, Pete, I've been meaning to tell you.  I'm pregnant with Ryan's child, and I've just started showing.  It really isn't fair for them to be making fun of my baby bump like this,” Brendon sarcastically weeped.

 

Pete thought that was funny, taking a few moments to laugh and lighten his mood before asking, “Is any of this stuff true?”

 

“I mean, I guess.  I've gained some weight recently,” Brendon said, and it finally felt easy to say.

 

“If that's the case, then this is just rude.  The press is awful.  B, I can make some calls and get this shit taken down, they shouldn't be spewing things like this—”

 

Brendon chuckled.  “Don't worry about it, Pete.  I know there's gonna be backlash to everything, but I'm not really offended.  But Ryan might be a little pissed about people saying we’re not together anymore.  That's a shitty rumor.”

 

“I don't know if I can fix that one.  People are always saying that,” Pete said.

 

“I know.  It's fine.”

 

“Then that's all I have for you, B.  As long as you're happy and you know about what's going on, then we’re all good.”

 

“Yeah, thanks for calling,” Brendon said, and that was the end of that.

 

Brendon noticed how Pete was being so courteous by not pressing him to talk more about his weight gain.  It didn't come as a surprise, as Pete was always one of the most accepting people Brendon knew, but Brendon wondered if people out there would act more like Zack or Pete when they found out Brendon had gained weight.  He supposed more people were like Zack, just by reading the gossip about him on the internet, and he felt lucky he was gaining on purpose and wasn't easily offended.

 

When Brendon put his phone and laptop away, Ryan moved to sit between Brendon's legs and clean him up.  Brendon relaxed and told Ryan about the articles, simply chatting happily about how noticeable it would make his weight gain to the world.

 

“I know I already told you, but I am so proud of you,” Ryan said.  “You're so amazing.”

 

“Thank you,” Brendon mumbled, feeling his heart flutter.  Just a little bit.

 

As Ryan finished up, he handed Brendon the whole bag and said, “Here, have some candy.”  Brendon wasn't going to protest that at all.

  
Ryan crawled up to lay beside him, hand automatically resting on the bump of Brendon's tummy, and Brendon felt himself finally settle in for the night.  He felt content to lay in bed and work his way through a pound bag of assorted chocolates before his long day and sugar crash hit him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to Hannah buttercupross for being the best and making this chapter go from "weird" to "weird except higher quality"

For a couple days, the gossip and rumors circulated the internet, making false claims and exaggerations about Brendon's gain.  He did his best to ignore it for the most part, staying off of his public social media accounts and only going on the internet at all to check things that were important to the band.  Apparently, however, all it took were these couple days for seemingly everyone in the professional music industry to hear the news, and the opinions were clearly mixed.  Brendon was hit in the face with this realization when he checked his work email and found a message from the label.  It was addressed directly to him, not to the whole band, and it was a summon for him to come into a meeting the very next day.

 

Brendon had looming suspicions that the topic of conversation would be his sudden weight gain, but he smothered those thoughts and tried his best to believe that it would just be plans for the tour, as the email said.  This was what he told Ryan as well, as he was going to have to go to this meeting without his boyfriend—something of a rarity, being in the same band.

 

The day of, Ryan was cheerful in the morning, as was usual after Brendon awoke.  Ryan was in the process of making them both breakfast, with French toast frying on the stove, along with some cheesy scrambled eggs, and some sort of pastries baking in the oven.  Without a second thought, he dug into the meal as soon as Ryan served it.  “Make sure you eat your fill,” Ryan said to him—pouring his coffee, and adding sugar and heavy cream—“I don't want you going hungry during your meeting.”

 

Brendon opened his mouth to reply,but abruptly shut it as egg dribbled onto his chin. He wiped at it, hoping Ryan wouldn’t notice, which was evident had not happened as Ryan was grinning at him amusedly. 

 

Ryan didn’t appear to be concerned about the meeting Brendon would be attending at all, which eased most of the worries Brendon had before he left the house.  He had his usual self-confidence, in his appearance and everything.  His news jeans fit him perfectly, and the shirt he wore showed that his midsection was just starting to get round, too.  Ryan kissed him before he left, and that was that.

 

Meeting with all these executives at Pete’s label, but not having the comfort of Pete himself being present, gave Brendon a slight anxiety.  He could perform onstage in front of thousands of people without being bothered one bit, but sitting in a meeting somehow made him feel on-edge.  He wished he had something to distract him in the last minutes before the meeting began—something to make his internal security lock in place and wash over him, killing his nerves. 

 

In the conference room, he took a seat at the side of the table, unwilling to take the head as was most likely formal.  He didn't exactly desire the feeling of being stared down by people who had more power over his career than he did.  There were five executives in the room, but only a select two even bothered to acknowledge his presence upon arrival. It was straight to business after that; Brendon honestly just wanted it to be over with.

 

“So, Brendon,” Executive Number One asked, “how do you feel your last tour went?”

 

It was questions like that which made Brendon uncomfortable, but he answered truthfully.  “I thought it went great.  Pretty smooth-sailing, all the way through.”

 

“Good, good,” he said, looking down at his notes.  “Ticket sales were up by twenty percent, putting you on the list of one of the highest grossing bands of the year.”

 

“That's a good thing, right?” Brendon said.

 

“It's fantastic,” another executive said.

 

“Cool,” Brendon responded with a smile, but his nerves were building by the second.

 

“So why we called you in today is to discuss the European tour you have coming up,” the original executive explained.

 

“We want to make sure it's proportionally successful to this American tour you did,” yet another said.

 

“Of course,” Brendon said.

 

“This tour should be almost exactly the same as the last.  Same set list, same stage routine, same everything.”

 

“Yeah, that's what we had been planning, too,” Brendon answered carefully, still unsure of why they wanted him in this meeting.

 

The original executive raised his eyebrows, looking down at the spread of paperwork in front of him.  Then, he looked up to meet Brendon's eyes, “That also means fitting into your stage costume from a couple months ago.”

 

Brendon felt his blood run cold, and he gulped.  He didn't know what to say.

 

“It's easy for artists to relax when they're off the road, and, ah, let themselves go a bit, but it's important that these things stay out of the public eye, and it surely isn't something we can continue to allow when you have a tour so soon,” Executive One said.

 

“We need your stamina high and for the girls to love you.  It's imperative for your success,” executive two said.

 

“What're you asking me to do?” Brendon finally said, avoiding eye contact to the best of his abilities.

 

“We’re asking you to lose the weight.  We’ve made a diet plan for you that's most effective for someone your height and age . . .”

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

In the car, on his way home to Ryan, Brendon calmed down.  He always knew there were sacrifices he had to make for his musical career, in almost every aspect of his life.  The label was making it easy for him, he thought, he should be thankful for this stack of papers that was his diet plan for the next few weeks.  Besides, he was young and healthy—thirty pounds would fall right off, like nothing.

 

He couldn't help but think that he wouldn't be in this situation at all if Pete had been at the meeting.  Pete hardly had a problem with anything Brendon did, and the meeting most likely would have leaned more in Brendon's favor if Pete had been in attendance.

 

Upon walking in the door of his house, he was met with the aroma of something sugary and fruity baking, and the tension in his shoulders disappeared.  It was good to be home.  There was a dish of wrapped caramels on the table by the door, and for once, he resisted grabbing one on his way in.

 

He found Ryan in the kitchen, and Ryan smiled warmly in greeting him.  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said.

 

“I need to buy you an apron,” were the first words out of Brendon's mouth.  He set down his paperwork on the table, noticing the flour all over Ryan's black clothing.

 

“That could be useful,” Ryan said.

 

Not minding the flour he got on his hands, he held Ryan's waist and pressed his lips to his.  “I missed you,” Brendon said, lower lip brushing against Ryan's.

 

“Did you?  How did it go?” 

 

“It was okay,” Brendon lied, shrugging.

 

Brendon knew that Ryan saw right through him and was usually able to tell immediately when Brendon was lying.  He was especially good at picking out when Brendon's mood was negative, even if he was trying to hide it.  Not to mention the fact that Brendon was a terrible liar.  “What happened?” Ryan asked.

 

“They, uh.”  Brendon bit his lip.  He remembered how protective Ryan had been around Zack, and Zack was their friend.  He hadn't even had malicious intent, and Brendon's feelings weren't hurt from it.  Brendon hadn't felt self-conscious or meek before.

 

“B?”

 

“They said they think I've let myself go.  And that I need to lose weight to fit into my costume.  And they—they gave me a diet plan.”

 

Ryan blinked at him, blankly.  “They  _ talked _ to you about your  _ weight _ ?”

 

Brendon looked down.  “Yeah . . .”

 

“That's horrible,” Ryan said pointedly, “they shouldn't be allowed to do that.”

 

“I mean, they're kinda right.  We’ll lose fans and popularity once we tour if everyone sees me like this.”

 

Ryan ran his fingers through Brendon's hair.  “What does it matter?” He asked, voice soft.

 

“I—I don't know.  I just felt intimidated, and, like, they're basically our bosses, and I don't want it to hurt us, and—”

 

“We’re okay, B.  They don't have the power to drop us from the label, or cancel our tour, or do any of the other things you're worrying about.  You know that Pete wouldn't allow it.”

 

Brendon’s worries were eased—to a certain extent—by Ryan's words.  He didn't quite know if it was because he was still shaken up by the atmosphere of the meeting, or if he was truly looking to alter himself, but he replied to Ryan's comforts by saying, “I think I want to try it.”

 

“Try what?”

 

“The diet.”

 

“Okay,” Ryan said.  “Have you looked at it yet?”

 

“No, but I—I don't know.  I just think life will be easier if I do what they want.”

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

Brendon was a bit confused about his own feelings, but he nodded.

 

“Alright.  Are you okay?  Like, you know how beautiful you are, right?  You're not feeling bad about yourself or anything, are you?”

 

Brendon shrugged.

 

“Hey, hey,” Ryan said, bringing his hands up to cradle Brendon's face.  “Just because they've been trained to want skinny, dainty boys to sing onstage because it makes money doesn't mean you're not still attractive.  More attractive, even.  And I have no doubt we’ll sell just as many tickets, and we won't feel the impacts of it at all, no matter what you do or what you look like.  You're perfect.”

 

Really, Brendon thought, he should've seen the onslaught of love and devotion from Ryan coming, but he was so surprised that Ryan's words weren't even clicking to him.  “That's just what you think.  Nobody else feels the same way.”

 

“I guess I can't speak for anyone else, but I can't have you being unhappy with yourself.  What can I do,” Ryan asked, placing his hands on Brendon's waist, “to make you feel better?”

 

Looking down, Brendon said, “Help me get thin again before tour, I guess.”

 

Ryan nodded.  “Come sit.  Let's look at what they sent you home with together, okay?”

 

Brendon took the hand Ryan was holding out to him and followed him to the kitchen table, where Brendon had left the paperwork.  They sat together, side by side. Ryan picked it up first.  Brendon watched him skim the first page with a blank stare, and his lips pressed together in a thin line right before speaking—“They want you to eat twelve hundred calories or less a day.”

 

“I'll manage,” Brendon said automatically.

 

Ryan flipped through the pages of recipes, and Brendon rested his head on his shoulder to observe them, too.  “This isn't so bad,” Ryan said, nearing the end of Brendon's new meal options.

 

“No?”

 

“Yeah, steak salad sounds pretty good . . . Whole wheat pancakes . . . I'll learn how to sear fish . . .”

 

“You don't have to do that for me, I can do this by myself.”

 

“No, I'll do this with you.  It'll make it easier.”

 

“But you don't need to lose any weight, like I do.” Brendon pressed.  “If you lose any weight, you'll disappear.”

 

“This is all food I would eat either way.  And shut up,” Ryan grinned, “I'm not that skinny.”

 

“You totally are.  You're tiny.”  Brendon couldn't help but smile at Ryan's mock pout, feigning offense to Brendon's comments.  His mood lightened considerably, just with Ryan’s presence.

 

“You know what sounds good?  Salmon on a breakfast sandwich.  Instead of sausage or ham I could do some smoked salmon.  That works well with this diet.”

 

“Stop, you’re gonna make me hungry,” Brendon said, only half-joking.

 

“I’ll just have to make you something, then.  It’s lunch time, and I’m guessing you won’t want this peach cobbler I just made . . .”

 

Peach cobbler, of course, sounded fucking amazing to Brendon, but he shook his head at Ryan, anyway.  No baked goods could be anywhere around him for the next few weeks leading up to tour—he knew he could never resist Ryan’s cooking if it were right in front of him.  Ryan wrapped the baking pan up and put it in the fridge and Brendon made a mental note to avoid looking at it as much as he could.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Brendon laid on the couch, a blanket over him, and tried to focus on the TV lighting up the dark room.  He was finding it nearly impossible, with the persistent, dreadful feeling of hunger gnawing at him.  Dinner had only been an hour ago, but since he started his diet two days ago, portion sizes had dropped considerably for him.  However, his weight had not.  He knew that he was being impatient, checking the scale in their bathroom every morning for results, checking for even just a small decrease in the number, checking for something that showed a payoff for his sacrifices.  In the past two days, he hadn’t felt full, hadn’t even felt kind of satisfied when it came to food at all, and it was making no difference.

 

He was involuntarily frustrated and irritated about it, his general mood had plummeted.  The only things that gave him solace were the infant-sized meals that Ryan dutifully cooked for him, and, well, Ryan himself.  Brendon didn’t know what he would do without Ryan, thinking of how miserable he was even with all of Ryan’s support and comfort—he couldn’t imagine what he would be like without him.

 

His stomach growled audibly, and he felt so hollow and empty that it hurt.  He curled his knees up to his chest, able to recognize the slight softness of his middle rolling underneath his shirt as he did so, and let out a soft whimper.  Being so consumed by his hunger, Brendon hadn’t even noticed that Ryan had entered the room and was startled by his voice.  “What’s wrong, baby boy?  What do you need?” Ryan asked, sinking down to sit beside Brendon on the couch.

 

_ Food, _ Brendon thought,  _ and lots of it. _  He whimpered again.  “Nothing, I’m just starving,” he mumbled feebly.

 

Ryan sighed, and brought a hand up to rub Brendon’s back.  “I know, B.  I’m a little hungry, too.  Are you sure you don’t want anything else—?”

 

“No, no, I’m fine.  I’ve eaten plenty today,” Brendon cut him off.  He let himself close his eyes and feel Ryan’s fingers massaging his back in an attempt to soothe him, but it was futile.  Brendon’s emotions were overwhelmed by misery. He felt like crying.  “You should go eat whatever you want,” Brendon told him.

 

“That would be mean.”

 

Brendon’s stomach growled again, and he groaned.  “How have I not lost all the weight yet?  I feel like I should be skinny by now.”

 

“I’m sorry you’re going through this, sweetheart,” Ryan said, sympathetically.

 

“It’s not your fault I have no self-control,” Brendon said.

 

“I feel like I’m partially responsible.  I was actively helping you gain weight.”

 

“And that was really, really nice, but I should be able to lose thirty pounds just as easily as I put them on, right?”   
  


“At this rate, you’ll weigh less than me by the time tour starts,” Ryan assured.

 

Brendon knew Ryan was trying his hardest to make him feel better, and he appreciated it, but truly, the thought of being skinny again didn’t seem all that appealing to him.  Losing weight just didn’t seem like it was worth the effort most of the time to Brendon, but he knew deep down that he was doing it for the benefit of the band.  He didn’t want to be selfish.

 

“Can we watch a Disney movie?  I don’t want to think about this anymore,” Brendon said.

 

“Whatever you want, lover,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon momentarily felt incredibly lucky he had Ryan there to spoil him at all times; no matter what the circumstance, Ryan was always finding a way to make Brendon feel loved and cared for.  But his pangs of hunger were just too distracting, and it was giving him a slight headache.  Even for him, the bright colors and animated voices of the Disney film were nearly too much.  He shifted to lay his head in Ryan's lap, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, and Ryan began stroking his fingers through Brendon's hair.  Ryan alternated between just petting him, and massaging his scalp and temples lightly, and it was just the thing Brendon needed—aside from food, anyway.

 

With Ryan soothing him like that, Brendon's eyes slipped closed.  Somewhere along the way, it was Ryan who started softly singing the soundtrack of  _ Aladdin _ , and it was just enough to lull Brendon half to sleep.

 

The sleep was short-lived, though, and Brendon was awoken to seeing the credits of the movie on screen.  Ryan was gently shaking him, telling him to get up so they could both go to bed, and Brendon did exactly what Ryan told him to do, too tired to think of much else.

 

He expected to fully crash once he laid in their comfortable bed, with all the room and the warm sheets and Ryan laying beside him, but the opposite happened. As he laid down, he felt nauseated by his hunger, and he couldn't just slip back to sleep as he was planning on doing.  Ryan was already sound asleep next to him, an arm draped carelessly over his waist, so any extra comfort from him couldn't be provided.

 

Brendon's sides hurt, his head throbbed, his stomach kept making noises, and each one put Brendon in more pain.  This stupid diet . . .

 

As he laid there with his eyes open, he found himself daydreaming about food, all the things Ryan had made for him.  The rich pastas and the chocolate pastries and the decadent breakfasts, Brendon thought of all of it.  The candies stashed away around the house, stacks of fluffy pancakes, the peach cobbler in the fridge . . . Brendon was in absolute agony.  He finally drifted off, with a hand on his own unsettled stomach, thinking about the small meal he would be allowed for breakfast—he could hardly wait.  But, to his dismay, his dreams were no escape from the idea of eating.

 

In his dream, he was up on a platform, something that could almost be considered a stage.  His ‘audience’ was composed of less than twenty people—Zack, his girlfriend, the executives Brendon had recently met with, Pete—and all eyes were on him.  He was sitting in a propped up chair, the metal cool against his exposed thighs—he was wearing shorts.  Ryan stood beside him, and as soon as he looked up at his towering figure, there was a bite-sized donut getting pushed between his lips.  He chewed and swallowed.  It sat heavy in his stomach.  As if trained to do so, he opened his mouth for another, met with Ryan's spindly fingers and exactly what he wanted.  He was already stuffed.  How many had he eaten?  He couldn't be sure.

 

Ryan steadily hand-fed him, and no matter how full Brendon was, his lips chased the powdered sugar that stuck to Ryan's fingers whenever Ryan gave him another donut.  His tummy felt taut and round, but as he tried to touch it, he found his wrists were tied together behind his back.  Ryan placed a hand on his tummy instead, and Brendon opened his mouth eagerly for Ryan to feed him more.  “Good boy,” Ryan crooned softly, rubbing his hand in circles over Brendon's bare skin, “good boy.”  Brendon's cheeks flushed.  The audience seemed hazy, turned to an orgy of sorts with arousal at Brendon's state.  Brendon let his eyes flutter shut, letting Ryan stuff his face for him . . .

 

He awoke in his bed, sleep still clinging at the edges of his mind, with his cock half hard between his legs and his stomach gurgling.  Ryan was still passed out beside him, and it was still completely dark in the room.  He rolled over to check the clock, and found that it had only been an hour and a half since he went to bed.  It was a struggle to keep his eyes open for that long.  But, fuck, he was hungry, stomach gurgling demandingly.  He didn't want to wake Ryan for no reason, but he wasn't totally thinking straight with how drowsy he was.  Following nothing but bare instinct, he made his way out of bed and into the kitchen.  He just needed something to abate him until morning.

 

This was ridiculous, he told himself, as he woke up more.  He should just go back to sleep and wait a few more hours for breakfast.  But he wasn't sure he could fall asleep again, and when he thought about the dreams he was having, it was better to be awake if he wanted to do anything to control his cravings.

 

Just a snack, he made the internal promise.  Just enough to make him a little less hungry.

 

He opened the fridge, and his eyes immediately fell upon the pan of untouched peach cobbler, which Ryan had made from scratch and Brendon had been determined to stay away from.  It looked so good.  He bit his lip.  What would it hurt?  He knew he had to eat something, and it wasn't like he was going to make a salad or something else as laughable.  Tentatively, he took the pan out of the refrigerator, and set it on the kitchen counter.  The thought of eating any of it made his mouth water.  He took the wrapping off the top, and grabbed a fork out of a drawer.

 

Standing in the kitchen, with only the moonlight flooding in from the windows to aid his vision, Brendon scooped a single bite out of the corner of the cobbler.  It would barely be noticeable in the nine by thirteen inch baking pan, a small missing spot.  With this reasoning, Brendon took the bite in his hand, and instantly felt his mood change.  The crust was crumbly and sweet and soft, blending perfectly with the syrupy fruit mixture inside, sugary and a hint tart with full slices of peach.  One bite, and Brendon was in love with it.  He’d been so deprived of all things rich and sweet for a couple days, and it was enough to show just how reliant on it he had become.

 

Just a few more bites, he said to himself.  Just enough to make it look like he had a normal-sized piece.

 

He carried the pan to the kitchen table so he could sit with his midnight snack, taking a bite before he was even settled.  Fuck, it was phenomenal.  He took another bite before he had even swallowed the one before.  And another.  And another.  Eating like he would never see food again.  He hadn't felt this good in days, and was convinced this was the best food he had ever eaten.

 

Shoveling bite after bite in his mouth.  He was just so hungry.  It was hard to keep track of how much he was eating, of when he should be stopping, when food was this good and he felt so empty.  His fingers clutched the fork and the pan to keep it steady, but the flavor was so strong and addicting, he felt close to swooning and dropping everything.  With how much he was shoving in his mouth at once, his cheeks stretched, his jaw ached, and he struggled to keep up on chewing fast enough for how greedy he felt.

 

He couldn't help himself.  It was like he needed to feel full, like he needed the feeling he had been so carefully avoiding for days.  He felt out of control, but it was okay; he was half-asleep, as well. He didn't know how much he had eaten, just that he was still hungry.  Just a few bites had turned into a whole lot more than that, and he just kept going, unable to stop.  Suddenly, his belly felt full, like there was no room left.  Disconnected for a few moments, Brendon kept mechanically feeding himself, chewing and swallowing as much of the cobbler as he could at a time.  Then, with a groan of pain, he finally noticed he was about two thirds of the way through the pan.

 

Momentarily, he felt guilty.  He should've been upset with himself for giving in so easily to some comfort food.  But he wasn't totally stuffed, just a little full, and he was so close to being done with the pan—what was the point in stopping?  His willpower had already been demolished, so the second that he weakly convinced himself to keep eating, he was digging in again.  He ate as though he was still ravenous, instead of having already eaten enough to serve four or five people, if not more.  Why would he ever stop this?  It felt so good . . .

 

He was starting to feel like he might burst when he finished the last bite, sucking the fork clean.  So, so good.  He would definitely be asking Ryan to make that again.  Ha, as if he could ever eat another bite.  Over the course of time that he had been gaining weight, he had come to enjoy the feeling of being overstuffed.  It made him feel comforted and drowsy.  The fact that it was the middle of the night didn't help with this at all, either.  He knew he should go back to bed, but he was so tired, and felt so heavy.  Moving to get up wasn't something he would be able to manage by himself at the moment, he was so stuffed.

 

As he rested both hands on his belly, he inhaled, and felt the round, tight curve push against his fingers.  He moaned quietly and closed his eyes.  Sleep would soothe him entirely . . .

 

“. . . Brendon.  B.  Hey, good morning.  Hey.”

 

Brendon opened his eyes to see Ryan standing over him, and feeling his fingers on his shoulder, brushing his collarbone and neck.  “Ryan?” He asked, disoriented.

 

“Hi, sweetheart.  Why don’t you go back to bed?  I don’t want you to be uncomfortable . . .”

 

Brendon blinked his eyes open, thinking more clearly.  The room was bright with the sun shining in from outside, and he was still sitting at the kitchen table, the empty baking pan in front of him.  Everything rushed back to him from the night before, and he found himself blushing at the memory.  He was almost impressed with his own gluttony.  “What time is it?” He asked Ryan.

 

“It’s eight in the morning.  I just woke up, and you weren’t in bed, so . . .”

 

“Sorry,” Brendon said.

 

“It’s okay, babe.  What happened, though?  Why didn’t you wake me up?”

 

“I was dreaming about food and I was just so hungry, I couldn’t help it, and I guess I just fell asleep out here.”

 

Ryan broke eye contact to look at the empty baking pan.  “You ate all of that at once?”

 

Brendon bashfully nodded.

 

“Well, it’s no wonder.  You must’ve been stuffed, poor baby.”  Ryan bent to kiss his forehead, and picked up the pan to take it to the sink.  He didn’t seem upset or disappointed at all, or really even surprised, so Brendon knew he had no reason to be embarrassed.

 

Brendon’s back was stiff, and he put his arms over his head to stretch out his spine.  His shirt rode up in the process, exposing his tummy.  He was all soft again, his late night meal having digested, and he could pinch some of his chub between his fingers.  It felt nice, like an extra layer of protection and warmth.  He enjoyed it, and he knew Ryan enjoyed it, too, in ways Brendon appreciated.  And it would only get better if he grew more, continued to round out, get softer.  The steps he had to take to get there would also be more than pleasant.

 

“I don't think this is going to work out,” Brendon confessed, still running his hands over his belly.

 

Ryan's head snapped over to him.  “What's not going to work out?”

 

Brendon sighed.  “Oh, this diet of mine.”

 

Brendon watched Ryan bite back a grin, and say, “And why’s that?”

 

“I think I kind of ruined it last night.”

 

Ryan came back over to him just to kiss his neck.  “Totally blew it,” Ryan breathed, in agreement.

 

Brendon smiled to himself.  He knew Ryan supported anything he chose to do, deep down, but Ryan was biased, with being an avid supporter of Brendon gaining weight.  Brendon definitely didn't mind this one bit, and took pleasure out of doing things that would satisfy Ryan.  “And I would much rather let you fatten me up than let me wither away.”

 

“Oh, yeah?  Are you sure?” Ryan asked, but Brendon could hear the smile in his voice.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure.  I know I like peach cobbler a lot more than dieting.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

“I guess I’ll just need a new stage costume,” Brendon said, with a smirk.

 

“We should get you something tailor-made,” Ryan said, “with plenty of room to grow.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter to make up for the long wait, sorry! Didn't have anyone beta this either so there will probably be some typos and weirdly phrased sentences. Also this chapter contains some explicit sexual content and (very) minor force feeding. Thanks bye

Brendon's jeans had just started to feel a bit tight by the time the tour kicked off.  His weight gain had slowed after the first thirty pounds he had packed on so quickly.  Part of that was contributed to how busy him and Ryan were, leading up to the tour.  They had band practices and stage rehearsals and a few more meetings—together, and with a lot less pressure than the first.

 

Singing, let alone performing onstage, took energy and burned calories like nothing else Brendon did.  He was used to getting what was practically a full-body workout,  every night he ever played a show, so as they were leaving for Europe, Brendon's mind was totally off the topic of gaining weight.  With touring, he expected he would be losing a few pounds before returning home, so he didn't think it wise to waste time clothes shopping when there was so much to do.  Sure, his jeans may be digging into his sides, giving him what could only be considered a muffin top, but they would get roomier once he was exercising all the time, eating less.  Or so he thought.

 

At the airport on their way to Europe, Ryan held his hand, helping to guide him.  He was sleepy, from a lack of sleep and from being stuffed full right before leaving the house.  It was one in the morning, which never used to feel that late for him.  Now he was in a routine of going straight to bed after dinner, no later than nine p.m., so staying up later was much more difficult.  The only reason he had made it this far was Ryan's promise of dessert before they left the house, which he hand-baked. And, since they were leaving for weeks, they couldn't save any of the food, so Brendon just had to eat both trays of cookies on his own in one sitting.

 

He was truly overstuffed from all Ryan had fed him throughout the day, but he still happily accepted the sugary coffee Ryan bought for him, enough to pleasantly top him off.  It was complete with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and Ryan ran his fingers up and down Brendon's back as a form of comfort when it gave him brainfreeze.

 

As they walked out to the plane, Brendon was dreading the flight.  Spending multiple hours in jeans was always uncomfortable for him, these days.  Ryan took his bag and placed it in the overhead compartment for him, gesturing for him to sit down instead.  When he did, he could hear the seams creak around his waist and thighs, and was afraid for a moment that the pants would split across his ass.  They didn't, much to Brendon's relief, only cutting into his sides, the button pressing into his soft lower stomach.  He shifted around, running his fingers between his skin and the fabric, trying to achieve some comfort and failing.

 

Ryan sat beside him, and Brendon sighed, pushing his bottom lip out.  “What's wrong, my love?” Ryan asked, voice gentle and sweet.  Brendon shook his head.

 

“Nothing, really.  My jeans are just too tight right now for me to sit on this plane for twelve hours. I should've gone shopping,” Brendon said.

 

“Why don't you unbutton them, B? No one will notice.  Besides, they'll feel better when you're a little less full.  I know I got you all bloated up with those cookies.”

 

Brendon nodded in agreement, and moved to pull the button open.  His belly bulged out a bit more, and the pressure around his whole waist disappeared.

 

Ryan patted his stomach, pressed his nose into Brendon's neck, and slipped his hand down to rest on his thigh.  “You're going to get so much bigger while we’re in Europe,” Ryan murmured, and pressed a kiss just below his ear.

 

A spark of excitement shot through Brendon at the words, even though they went against everything Brendon had planned.  “How so?” Brendon asked.

 

“It's kind of our vacation.  We’ve got so many foods to try, and you know how fattening the best things are.  I'll make sure you never go hungry, and that you're not doing more work than you need to.”

 

Brendon hummed.  “I like the sound of that.”

 

“I think it's your job just to eat, and make sure you're getting all those calories in.  We can't have you wilting away into nothing, with all the shows we’ll be doing.”

 

“You're right.  You'll just have to keep me well-fed,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan smiled, and Brendon realized this tour was going to be way better than the last.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

By the time they landed in Italy, where they would be kicking off the tour the next night, Brendon was starving but refreshed.  Sure, he had been snacking for a big portion of the flight, but the chips and fruit weren't good enough meal replacements anymore for him.  He felt as though he had skipped breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with how long the plane ride was.  Although his stomach was growling menacingly, he had slept enough on the flight that he felt awake and energized once more.  This was good, he thought, because now he would be able to start on an empty stomach with the Italian food Ryan wanted him to try.

 

Ryan was asleep when the flight was landing, and Brendon gently woke him before the plane touched the ground.  With a drowsy smile, Ryan murmured to Brendon that they needed to find a place to eat immediately, because he had been dreaming about feeding him.  Brendon agreed that it was top priority, and they set out together with the mission of finding a restaurant before even their tour bus.

 

The other three—Zack, Spencer, and Jon—caught up with them in the airport in Rome, all of them as tired as Ryan, and asked where they were going.  “Out,” Ryan said, “to whatever is open in Italy in the middle of the night.”

 

“For what?” Zack demanded, glowering at them with circles prominent under his eyes.

 

“Food.  I’m starving,” Brendon said.

 

“Well of course  _ you _ are,” Spencer said, poking Brendon in the side, his fingers sinking into some of his pudge.

 

“I’m pretty hungry, too, Spence,” Jon said, winking at Brendon.  “Why don’t we tag along with them?”

 

“Okay.  As long as Ryan’s paying,” Spencer agreed, warming up a bit.

 

“This means I have to come with you,” Zack groaned.

 

“You get to be graced with our presence, Zack, isn’t that enough?” Brendon laughed.

 

Zack rolled his eyes but followed along.

 

They loaded their bags in a cab and squeezed all in together, Brendon smushed in the middle of Ryan and Spencer.  He felt wide at the hips now more than ever, and buried his face in Ryan’s neck as his stomach growled loudly.  Spencer kept teasing him, in a way, about how soft and comfortable he was to be pressed against.  When Brendon looked to see Ryan’s reaction, he found him smirking with his eyes closed, leaning into Brendon more.

 

With some difficulty from their collective lack of foreign language abilities, it took nearly two hours after their flight had landed for them to walk into a restaurant.  It was small, dark, and fairly busy for the time—two in the morning, to be exact—with people bustling about and the smell of rich food all through the air.  Brendon felt his mouth water when he watched a bowl of garlic bread get served to another table, and knew he had to have some of it before they left for the bus that night.

 

Everyone ordered their own dishes, besides Zack, and were happy to dig in and soon as it was served.  Brendon personally ordered a chunk of lasagna, oozing with cheese, meat, and sauce, but he was eyeing Ryan’s plate of creamy raviolis as well.  He couldn’t resist closing his eyes and moaning around his fork at the first bite, tasting  _ real _ food in the first time for what felt like weeks.  There was a laughter around the table at him, and he blushed slightly, but told them to shut up, because nobody could possibly be as hungry as he was.

 

In a few more moments, Zack had placed his forehead on the wooden table in front of him, sound asleep, and the table’s conversation changed to making fun of him for crashing so early.  Brendon finished his portion of food before anyone else, but it had barely done anything to fill him up at all.  He began, very pointedly, staring at Ryan’s meal, which he was only picking at with his fork, until Ryan noticed and slipped it over to him.  “You can order more, if you want,” Ryan offered.

 

“Maybe I will,” Brendon said.

 

He downed Ryan’s ravioli with no problem, using multiple pieces of garlic bread to scoop up all the possible sauce he could.  By the time he was done with that, his jeans were getting close to being unbearably tight again, his re-done up button digging in so much more than it had been that morning.  But he wasn’t stuffed, not to the point of his satisfaction, and he knew Ryan would be happy and impressed with him if he continued eating.  So he ordered enough dessert for everyone at the table, even though nobody else had been able to eat anything more than their own servings of food.

 

“Brenny,” Jon said, clearing his throat, “how are you possibly still eating?”

 

“My appetite’s grown,” Brendon said.  “How do you think I’ve gotten this fat?”

 

“You’re not fat, B.  You’ve just softened up a bit,” Ryan said.

 

“I think you’re viewpoint is a little skewed, then, babe.”

 

“Maybe,” Ryan said, and rubbed Brendon’s belly under the table.

 

“Either way, you need to hurry up and finish that dessert so we can sleep.  I’m exhausted,” Spencer said.

 

“Okay, okay,” Brendon said.  Impulsively, he crammed in as much of the custardy, thick filling as he could at a time, trying to finish it all as fast as he could.  This only caused him to get fuller more quickly, the button of his jeans digging into his skin so hard he felt that he could be bruising.  But the food was so good, and he loved the feeling of his stomach expanding with his meals, so he kept eating until it was gone.  It may have been a mistake, as he felt heavy, lazy, and pained, but Ryan’s presence comforted him.

 

“Good job, B.  You full now?”

 

Brendon nodded.  “A little too full,” he said weakly.

 

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked.

 

“Yeah, yeah, just . . .”

 

Ryan's eyes flicked from Brendon's face down to his abdomen, and he reached, almost reflexively, towards the button of Brendon's jeans, but pulled back before touching him.  Although his cheeks heated up once again, he knew he had to undo his pants to be able to stand up, or to even lean forward, so he did what he had to do, sighing in relief as he felt his lower stomach expand a little more.

 

“Help me up?” Brendon asked to Ryan, upon everyone beginning to rise.

 

“Of course,” Ryan said, offering him a hand to hold and pulling him up.

 

“We’re finally leaving?” Zack asked.

 

“Yep,” Jon answered, and for once, Zack was the one following behind the four of them.

 

Ryan placed his hand on Brendon's lower back as a way to help him outside.  His eyelids were getting heavy, and he just wanted a bed to lay in with Ryan, but he knew he wasn't going to get it.  He was too full; walking around was awful.  By the time they made it from the restaurant to their waiting tour bus a block away, he was hot, thirsty, and out of breath, overstuffed belly constricting his breathing.  He plopped down on the couch in the lounge area of the bus as soon as he walked on, leaning all the way back and groping at his belly, anything to make it feel better.

 

“You look pregnant,” Spencer said to him.

 

“Like, you could burst at any second, B,” Jon continued.

 

“I feel like it,” Brendon said.  He pulled his shirt up by a few inches to rub at the skin where his jeans had been digging in.

 

“Aren't you used to overeating by now?” Ryan asked.

 

“It feels good to me now, but I don't know if I'm used to it,” Brendon said.

 

“Ryan, are you used to seeing Brendon look so pregnant, then?” Spencer asked, still staring at Brendon's belly.

 

“No, not really.  You know, his tummy gets bigger every time, so I don't know if I can get used to it.”

 

Brendon could feel stirrings of arousal within him at the comments that were made about him, loving the attention.  He folded his waistband down once for more comfort, needing to give his belly as much room as he could to let it settle.

 

“This isn't just something you can work off, huh?” Spencer asked, voice softer.  “You're just going to keep eating like this, over and over, until you really fatten yourself up.”

 

Brendon shook his head, and looked to Ryan, at a loss for words.  He loved what Spencer was saying, moreso when Ryan seemed to approve of it.  “He's just turned into a glutton, Spence.  I mean, look what all this eating’s done to his body, and it's only been a couple months.”

 

With the tone Ryan had taken on, and the way Ryan was looking him up and down, Brendon could feel himself rapidly getting hard, and he frantically looked from Ryan to Spencer.  Thankfully, Spencer seemed to notice, and he said, “Well, Ryan, I think I'll leave you to take care of your growing boy.  After all, it does seem like he's eating for two.”

 

“Goodnight,” Brendon managed to call out, as Spencer made his way back to the bunks.

 

When he was gone, Brendon stared up at Ryan, who was bending to sit on the edge of the couch.  “What's going on with Spencer?” Brendon asked, as Ryan's hands replaced his own on his belly.

 

Ryan shrugged.  “Spence and I can always figure each other out, so he probably just put two and two together to figure out where your little ‘baby bump’ is really coming from.”

 

“It just turns me on when you talk about my weight gain like that.”

 

Ryan kissed him on the lips and replied, “It turns me on when you gain weight like you have, and I just wanna brag about putting the weight on you.”

 

Brendon whined when Ryan put a bit of pressure on his belly, massaging it.  “Ugh, I feel like I'm gonna explode,” Brendon said.

 

“If you really didn't want to feel like this, then maybe you shouldn't have eaten so much.  But I know you can't really control yourself around food.  If you could, these jeans would still be too big on you.”

 

“Ryan,” Brendon breathed, feeling his cock begin to throb.

 

“Oh, you really like being teased for your weight gain, don't you?” Ryan said, reaching down to squeeze Brendon's cock through his clothes.  Brendon knew they could get caught, that Zack, Spencer, or Jon could walk in from the next room at any moment, but he was having a difficult time caring.  His taut, overfull stomach, his hard cock, and Ryan's words and hands were all taking too much of his attention.  It all felt so, so good.

 

“Just look at yourself, sweetheart.  You don't let yourself go like this unless you're completely addicted to food.  Say it for me, baby boy—you just want to stuff your face and get fatter all the time,” Ryan continued.

 

Brendon's breathing picked up, causing him to gasp and get out of breath quickly, as Ryan pulled his cock out from his already undone pants.  “I—I just wanna—” he whimpered, Ryan beginning to stroke him up and down, still rubbing circles over his belly—“I just wanna stuff my face and get fatter!  Oh, fuck, Ryan, please . . .”

 

“Good boy.  Don't you worry about a thing, I'll keep feeding you and rounding you out, beautiful.”

 

It was too much, and Brendon came instantly in Ryan's hand.  He was out of breath, mind reeling with dream-like images of himself eating and getting bigger.  Hell, he knew he was never going to be anything less than chubby again.  He looked down at Ryan, smoothing his hand all over his bloated, swollen belly, and he just wanted more.

 

Ryan kept up the belly rub, and Brendon felt exhaustion sweep over him.  He could fall asleep right there, cock out, stomach straining towards the ceiling, Ryan soothing him.  But Ryan had better guidance for him, and helped him stand up to walk to bed.  “Let’s get you all comfortable,” Ryan said, “so your body can turn all those calories from tonight into fat.”  With his belly so full still, it was a challenge to climb up into his bunk, but Ryan helped him, with a hand sinking into his ass for support, and he stayed to calm Brendon down after the apparent exertion the task had put him through.  Brendon felt completely at ease when Ryan kissed him, slow and long, less lust-driven and more loving.  “Goodnight, my love. Sleep well,” Ryan murmured.

 

“Goodnight,” Brendon said back, and was drowsy enough that his chest only sank a little bit when he had to watch Ryan go to the other side of the bus for the rest of the night.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Before their show the next day, Brendon didn't eat for a couple hours.  He didn't want to be stuffed and tired before even going onstage, needing all the energy he could to perform.  But he wasn't going hungry, either, not with the little snacks and Italian cream sodas Ryan was feeding him backstage.  ‘Not eating’ to him now just meant not gorging himself into a food coma.

 

He was laying around in their dressing room, looking at social media, mindlessly eating the buttery little sugar cookies Ryan kept putting on a plate in front of him.  Suddenly, when he reached for more, they were all gone, leaving him to lay there idly.  His belly was beginning to feel full, too, so it was a good thing he could stop eating just like that.

 

“Hey, B,” Ryan called, “you need to try this on before the show.”

 

Brendon stretched and got himself up, wandering in the direction of Ryan’s voice.  He knew he was going to have to change his clothes before the show, and get all dressed up in his stage costume.  Ryan had taken care of getting him something new, something that would fit him better, but he hadn’t seen what it looked like yet.

 

Ryan was smirking as he handed over the outfit to Brendon, and Brendon wondered what Ryan was going to have him do.  As soon as Brendon took the dress pants from Ryan, he recognized them as the same pair he wore on their last tour, and looked to Ryan quizzically.  “Try it on,” Ryan urged, “just to see how it fits now.”

 

Brendon looked down at himself, at his bloated figure, all slightly wider and pudgier than the last time he would have been able to fit into the clothes Ryan was presenting him with.  He couldn’t help but wonder, too, what he was going to look like in these outgrown clothes, so he promptly stripped to do as Ryan asked.

 

There were already bright red indentations around his waist, and all the way down his thighs from where his jeans were digging in.  He was thankful they were alone, that Spencer and Jon weren’t watching, because he didn’t want them to see his gain in the full extent that Ryan could.  Ryan steadied him as he stepped into the pants, beginning to tug them up over his legs.  They were tight getting over his thighs, and he struggled, bouncing a little to pull them up.  His belly wobbled a bit as he did so.  That was new.

 

It was a two person task to get them up over his hips and ass, both Ryan and Brendon having to yank on the waistband, hard.  Brendon shifted his hips in an effort to squeeze his ass into the fabric, packed tight.  By the time they were up over his hipbones, Ryan was winded and Brendon was full-out panting.  The pants appeared to be painted on his legs, and Brendon felt that his thighs might pop the seams at any second.  His ass felt compressed, and he didn’t dare move for fear that the clothing would split down the back.

 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Ryan breathed, and Brendon flushed.

 

“These are so much worse than my jeans,” Brendon groaned.

 

“And now for the hard part,” Ryan said, placing a hand on Brendon’s belly, “getting them buttoned.”

 

Brendon laughed at the pointlessness of the task.  “There’s no way that’s gonna work, but you can go ahead and try, babe.”

 

“Suck it in,” Ryan said, gently sinking a hand into Brendon’s tummy, and Brendon did so with as much force as he could.  It didn’t matter, though, as the button didn’t come close to making it through the hole, so Brendon breathed out, belly expanding to bump against Ryan’s hand.

 

“You really have gotten too big for all your clothes then, haven’t you?  I thought it might be a nice ‘fuck you’ to the label if we sent you out onstage in clothes that really emphasize your gain.”

 

Brendon chuckled.  “Maybe I’ll strip onstage.  That’ll show them.”

 

Ryan pulled him close and kissed his forehead.  “I don’t want anyone else to know what you look like naked.  That’s special to me.”

 

“I know, baby, I know.  I don’t want anyone else to, either.  So show me what I’m wearing this tour.”

 

Ryan lead him to a corner of the room where his clothes were hanging up.  It was the same as the costume he had before—white button up, black dress pants, suspenders, and bowtie—except with some noticeable alterations.  All the material was stretchy, like loose elastic, for both the shirt and the pants.  The shirt was longer than the old one, made for accommodating his rounding middle, and the pants lacked a button to close them.  Instead the waistband was made of elastic that would stretch with his figure.

 

“This will all fit you, no problem, and you should be able to put on some more weight before it’s even tight,” Ryan said.

 

“Thank you,” Brendon said, moving to touch the fabric.

 

“Of course.”

 

As Brendon was closer, he began to notice that the shirt was shaped a little different than the old one, aside from just going up a few sizes.  It flared out more towards the bottom, and was especially flexible near some of the lower buttons.  “What’s the deal with this shirt?” Brendon asked.

 

“Oh,” Ryan smiled, placing a hand on Brendon’s belly, “I didn’t think you would notice.  It’s maternity.”

 

Brendon could feel himself go red in the face just like that.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

They stayed at a luxury hotel in Belgium a few days into tour, a sigh of relief from spending so much of their time on the tour bus. Brendon could’ve almost cried from joy when he laid down and got to nestle into Ryan’s side.  Ryan only snuggled closer, relaxing with his face half in Brendon’s hair.  A lot of the time on tour, hotel nights were the perfect outlet to have sex while they had the privacy and space.  Sometimes, though, they were too tired to do anything of the sort, and used the night to simply rest and be together.  This was one of those nights, and Brendon was perfectly content with it.

 

He also didn’t want to be fucked when he was as full as he was, either.

 

They’d just gotten in from a restaurant where Brendon had eaten two and a half entrees of very rich food, which was making his stomach gurgle and bulge for the time being.  All the food made him drowsy.  On top of that, the show took all the energy out of Brendon, always going hard when performing.  He was exhausted.

 

Ryan began rubbing his belly, and it was all over for Brendon, falling asleep in Ryan’s arms.

 

When he awoke in the morning, it was to the sound of something squeaky and an empty bed.  He felt calm and well-rested as his eyes fluttered open, the tiredness he’d grown used to buzzing in his head had ceased.  The scent of something syrupy sweet hit him instantly, and he sat up against the headboard to look for its source.

 

It took a moment for him to process what he was seeing.  Ryan was standing in front of the bed, still in his nightclothes, wheeling in a cart with two tiers, platters of various breakfast foods placed on each surface.  “Good morning, B.  I thought you might be hungry, so I hope this is enough to fill you up,” Ryan said.

 

“All of this is for me?” Brendon asked, clearing his throat.

 

“I’ll eat a little bit too, but yes, mostly,” Ryan said.  He stopped the cart right next to the bed where Brendon was sitting, and Brendon got to take a good look at the food that was being offered to him.  The cart was teeming full with pancakes, waffles, and other various pastries and cakes.  Brendon didn’t have it in him to resist at all, not that he would even want to.  His stomach growled.

 

“Well, I better get started then,” Brendon said.  He picked up a pastry and slathered it with the sweet butter on the side before taking a nice, big bite.  “Mmm,” he sighed, pleasure rushing through him at the flavor.

 

He tried to take his time at the beginning, wanting to pace himself through eating so much food.  Ryan had never presented him with this amount before, but Brendon wanted to try to eat it all—to please Ryan, and to pack himself full with a couple more pounds’ worth of calories.  It was like a challenge, and he was determined to win.  On top of that, he was hungry.  Stretching his stomach every night made him wake up with a hunger a little more demanding each morning; getting served breakfast in bed was the perfect cure.

 

Eating the first pastry truly sparked his appetite.  He needed more.  He reached for a plate of two waffles and doused them in maple syrup, although they were already coated in powdered sugar.  With ease he ate both, languid, leaning back in bed as he brought forkful after forkful to his mouth.  The sweetness from the syrup and sugar left the inside of his mouth feeling dry and sticky, but Ryan was offering him a glass of milk before he could say a word.  He gulped it down eagerly, thirsty, although it was rich and rapidly filled him up.  This made him regret drinking it all so fast, as he still had so much more to eat.

 

With heavy breaths, he placed a hand on his stomach and looked up to Ryan.  He felt a sense of accomplishment when he saw the hard outline of Ryan’s cock through his pajama pants, aroused from watching him eat.  His eyes flicked over to the cart of food next to him, inspired to eat more, but he needed a moment before he could stuff in another bite.

 

“You can’t be full already, B,” Ryan said, “you’ve barely eaten.  And there’s so much food left.”

 

“Just taking a break,” Brendon said.  “That milk was a little too much for me.”

 

“You’re not used to drinking whole milk.  We don’t even buy that at home.  And this was special, too, extra thick, extra creamy—” he leaned in close to say the next words, as if they were secretive—“extra fattening.”

 

“Just the way I like it,” Brendon said.  He looked over at the food again and could feel temptation rise within him.  He wasn’t necessarily less full than he was a few moments ago, but he had more of a drive to keep eating. As though he was still ravenous, he picked up another pastry, this one full of chocolate, and took a bite.  It tasted so good, he lost sight of the feeling of fullness in his stomach, and continued eating as he had before.  Halfway through the pastry, he had to use his hand to stifle a belch.  That was better.  The pressure in his stomach was alleviated.

 

“Good,” Ryan noted.  “You've still got lots of room.”

 

He entered a period where he felt unable to stop eating, addicted to the flavor and the feeling all the food was bringing him.  Ryan ate a small plate of poached eggs and salmon while he watched Brendon devour fruit cake, bread pudding, and more waffles.  Any feeling of fullness was worth it to Brendon with the taste of every bite.  The whole experience was so pleasurable to him, he fell into a daze.  Eating, but not noticing or comprehending how full he was, how his body was reacting, only feeling pleasure and bliss.

 

Suddenly, he hit a wall.  He struggled to swallow the bite of pancake in his mouth as he was hit with uncomfortable fullness.  There was a clattering noise as he dropped his fork onto the plate before setting it aside.  An involuntary moan escaped him when he looked down at himself.  His belly was distended, round and taut, and so much bigger than Brendon was used to seeing it.  As though separated from his body, Brendon saw a hand with long, slender fingers begin to caress his middle before he felt it.

 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart, did something not taste good?” Ryan asked, sweet but somehow mocking as well.

 

Brendon shook his head.

 

“Then why’d you stop eating?” Ryan whispered.

 

“I’m so full,” Brendon complained.  “I can’t eat another bite.”

 

“I think you can,” Ryan said.  Brendon groaned.  “When has being full ever stopped you?  You usually eat past the point of being overfull.  Besides, there’s not that much food left.  I think you can do it.”

 

Brendon gazed over at the cart beside him.  A hazelnut pastry, another waffle, and the pancakes he’d started but didn’t finish remained.  It really wasn’t that much food, relatively, when put in comparison to the original amount.  But he was so full, he didn’t know how he could possibly get through it all.  He was tempted when he eyed the pastry, repeatedly glancing at it and considering.  The flaky crust and sugary filling just looked terribly good to him, even in his state.  Ryan caught on, of course, watching his whole thought process unfold.

 

“Go ahead, my love.  I know how hard it is for you to resist temptation, and you don’t have to.  All you need to do is eat,” Ryan encouraged.

 

“Ryan, I really don’t . . .” Brendon began, but then Ryan was picking up the pastry and bringing it closer to his face.  Brendon could smell it, and he licked his lips.  Ryan smirked.

 

“It would be a shame for all this good food to go to waste, wouldn’t it?  There’s no need to hold back.  You’re my growing boy, and you’ll keep getting bigger for me if you eat more.  I know it’s what you want, or we wouldn’t have gotten this far today,” Ryan said.  He was right, Brendon knew, in everything that he said.  Brendon wanted to please him, wanted to do anything he asked, and gorging himself on delicious food around the world was an easy way to do just that.  He felt his temptation taking over with Ryan’s encouragement, and fully gave in as he took the pastry out of Ryan’s hands.  He ate nearly half of it in one bite, feeling greedy, needing more of something that he couldn’t quite place his finger on.  “That’s right,” Ryan said, “just sit back and eat up, B.”

 

And eat up he did.  As he slowly chewed and swallowed each bite of the pastry, he considered his position.  Ryan was rarely this dominant with him, and Brendon thought of it as a treat whenever he was.  He was stuffed to his limit, but he couldn’t help but feel aroused at his entire situation.  Ryan encouraging him to eat and gain weight, serving him the best food he’d ever had, and getting off on it.  Brendon was in heaven, truly.  A few months ago, Brendon couldn’t have even imagined this scenario, never would have thought he would be tens of pounds heavier and enjoying it.  It made him wonder what the future would bring for him, if he would repeat the pattern of the last couple months again and again.  The idea, somehow, made his cock throb in his boxers.  Living a life of gluttonous pleasure while he packed on the pounds and fattened up.  Arousing.

 

He finished the pastry and reached for the pancakes while he was still in the mood to keep eating.  Before he could take a bite, however, he felt the pain of his overfull belly.  He rubbed it and closed his eyes, ready to resign.  He’d already eaten so much.  “I can’t do anymore, Ryan, I’m sorry,” Brendon murmured.

 

Ryan tsked and gently replaced Brendon’s hands on his belly.  “Do you need some help, baby boy?” Ryan asked.

 

Brendon nodded, relieved.  At least the food wouldn’t go to waste if Ryan ate it.  Brendon allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes and catching up on breathing.  He startled when he felt something cool against his lips, opening his eyes and mouth upon reflex.  As he did, Ryan pushed a forkful of pancakes into Brendon’s mouth.  Brendon accepted it, but whimpered while he chewed.  He felt fit to burst, and every bite was pushing him closer to that line.  “I can’t eat anymore . . .”

 

He hiccupped when Ryan poked him in the belly with one long finger.  “I think you’ve still got plenty of room in there.  You don’t have to do any work, sweetheart, just let me feed you,” Ryan said.

 

Ryan alternated between feeding him the waffle and the pancakes.  Brendon could’ve said no, could’ve easily stopped Ryan, but he kept opening his mouth for Ryan to feed him each bite.  Ryan would’ve backed off and soothed him, praised him for how well he did, Brendon knew.  But for whatever reason, Brendon let Ryan hand-feed him the rest of the food until they were down to just one pancake.  “Am I close to being done?” Brendon asked, out of breath.  His gut was heavy against the rest of his torso.

 

“Just one more bite,” Ryan answered.

 

When Brendon was about to moan about how full he was, Ryan shoved the remaining pancake into his open mouth with his hands, all in one.  It took him a long time to finish it, and when he did, he swore he could feel himself break out into a sweat.  He panted, head hitting the pillows, and his eyes went unfocused.  “Fuck,” he said, “I think I’m gonna pop.”

 

“Was that enough, then, B?” Ryan asked.

 

“Too much,” Brendon groaned.

 

Ryan pushed the cart out of the way so he could sit on the bed beside him.  Brendon looked from the stacks of empty plates Ryan wheeled away to his belly, so distended and round, all stuffed with food.  He was starting to understand why Spencer called him pregnant, as he looked like he was about to give birth.

 

“I’m so proud of you.  I can’t believe you ate all of that,” Ryan said.

 

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either.”

 

Ryan started massaging the lower part of his belly, just above the stretched waistband of his boxers.  His cock twitched at the prospect of being touched.  “You have no idea how hot you are,” Ryan said.

 

“You’re gonna make me so fat like this.  Look at how big I am, babe,” Brendon said, though there wasn’t a hint of complaint to his words.

 

“You’ve got a nice little pot belly started,” Ryan said.  “But it did grow quite a bit today.  I hope I get to make it even bigger by the time we get home.  You know I want you nice and round.”

 

He spread his legs slightly and squirmed.  He wanted to be as big as Ryan wanted him, wanted to be less full so he could eat more, help him get there.  “Oh, I need to come, but I can’t move right now.  Please, baby . . .” Brendon said.

 

“Aw, did you eat a little too much?” Ryan teased.  “Too full to touch yourself?  It’s good that you’re turned on by eating.  It’ll help you gain.  I guess I’ll take pity on you, just because you were so good and ate everything I gave you . . .”

 

Ryan jerked them both off, Brendon getting two loads of come across his swollen belly.  He moaned and went limp, huffing. “Fuck I’m full,” he panted.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, B, and I’ll help you get comfortable,” Ryan said.

 

“I can’t get up, Ryan, I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand.  I feel so heavy.”

 

“No, no, no.  You stay here, just relax.  You don’t need to move an inch.”

 

“Thanks, baby.”

 

Ryan cleaned him up with a warm washcloth, soothing on his belly.  His head lolled along with his eyes, and it was easy for him to drop off into a much needed food coma.  Letting out groans with every exhale, and with a hand splayed over his gut, he fell into a deep sleep, unable to even stay awake to tell Ryan he loved him, although he thought about it at the last moment before sleep took over him.

 

He was only awoken more than an hour later by a knocking on their hotel door, and Ryan’s gasp of startling awake next to him.  Ryan must’ve dozed off at some point, too.  They made bleary eye contact for a moment before Ryan said, “I’ll get it,” and crawled out of bed.

 

Brendon watched his shirtless boyfriend open the door by a crack, just enough to poke his head out, and could clearly hear him say, “Spence, could you not wait a few hours to see us again? You woke Brendon up!”

 

The exchange lasted longer than Brendon would have liked, as he wanted Ryan laying beside him again.  He began rubbing his bare tummy, out of habit, and noted that his bloat had gone down marginally.  He didn’t feel ready to burst from his meal earlier anymore.  Before Ryan came back, he drifted in and out of a half-sleep, feeling comfortable but wanting Ryan beside him again.

 

Brendon awoke more at the sound of the hotel door closing.  He cleared his throat and followed Ryan with his eyes.  “What did he have to say?” Brendon asked.

 

“We are invited to go out to lunch,” Ryan said.  “And he brought you a gift because he said your jeans look too tight to be comfortable.”  Ryan held up a pair of burgundy sweatpants, looking huge compared to Ryan’s naturally thin figure.

 

“They look too big.  I’ll have to try them on,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan frowned.  “They shouldn’t be too big.  I think they should be perfect for your size.”

 

Brendon gawked for a moment at how wide the waistband seemed, in shock that the people who knew him the best thought he was that big.  However, Spencer was right.  His jeans were uncomfortable, and he needed some new clothes to get him through the tour, at least.  With that in mind, he got out of bed to pull the sweatpants on over the boxers he was wearing.  He grimaced, pressing a hand to his stomach, which was still swollen and overfull.  Ryan helped him into them, and Brendon was surprised to see that they fit almost perfectly.  For the time being, with such a bloated and round belly, he pushed the waistband below the curve, right where his v-line used to begin before he softened up.

 

It was a bit of a realization for him that those pants fit, showing him just how much he had gained.  To be fair, his gain was unproportional, with most of it going to his hips and thighs, making his pant size bigger than if the gain was even.  But now he knew he had to be a larger size than Spencer or Jon.  He lost his status as petite and lean, officially.  A mix of pride and exhilaration ran through him.  He quite liked not being skinny anymore, liked being soft and more curvy than ever.

 

“Comfortable?” Ryan asked.

 

Brendon looked down at himself again.  “Yeah,” he said, “perfect.”  He turned around to walk to the bathroom, do something with his hair, when he heard Ryan gasp softly.  “What?” Brendon asked, looking back over his shoulder.

 

“Your ass,” Ryan breathed, moving closer to him.  “Those pants look so good on you, B.  You’ve gotten so soft.” Ryan cupped one of his cheeks through his pants, bony fingers sinking in and squeezing.  Brendon shuddered as Ryan pressed a kiss to his neck and said, “Beautiful.”

 

“You still think I’m beautiful, even with how much weight I’ve gained?” Brendon asked, sarcastically.

 

“So beautiful.” Ryan’s voice was all breathy, Brendon knew the words coming next before Ryan said them—“I want to fuck you so bad.  Please, can I fuck you?  I want to see that ass jiggle like it does whenever you walk now.”

 

“Yes, please,” Brendon said, feeling his cock start to get hard again.  He moved to bend over the bathroom counter without further prompting, eager to let Ryan take him—almost as eager as he was to go out to lunch.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

They were in the U.K. for the last week of tour, and things sped up.  On top of their shows that week, they had extra interviews and meet and greets booked everyday.  Even though Brendon’s time to simply sit around and eat was waning, his mind was almost constantly on the topic of his weight gain, between Ryan, their friends, fans, and interviewers.  Oh, and his ever-tightening pants.

 

It was surprisingly easy, how accepted Brendon’s weight gain was by the public, at least to his face.  He didn’t have any more encounters of people urging him to drop a few pounds, or people just being downright mean, which he had been expecting.  That didn’t mean the topic didn’t get a lot of attention, though, as it definitely did.

 

The interviewers liked to spend a couple minutes on it before talking about their music or other aspects of their personal lives.  Apparently, it was at the top of the list of things their fans wanted to hear Brendon talk about, so he did.

 

In their fifth interview that week, Brendon felt prepared for any questions he could be asked.  Their time in the UK was helping him get a perspective on what his fans thought, what the general public thought about his gain.  He was ready to turn any possible negatives into a positive.

 

“So, Brendon,” their interviewer asked, “does it bother you, honestly, how much people have been talking about your body lately?”

 

“I don’t mind at all.  The change is hard to ignore,” Brendon said.

 

“Have any comments been hurtful lately?  Has anything interfered with the tour and your performance?”

 

“I’m sure there have been some rude things said—on the internet or whatever—but I don’t really notice or take the time to look.”

 

“So you said that there hasn’t been any bad reception to your weight gain, so has there been anything really good that’s come out of it for you? We’ve all been so curious to know where your attitude around this comes from,” the interviewer said.

 

“Yeah, yeah, there’s some good things about it, um . . .” Brendon was careful to not look at Ryan, knowing he would stutter and make things weird and suspicious.  “Some of the fans have been really sweet,” Brendon recalled quickly.  “In a meet and greet we were having a couple days ago, I had someone come up to me, and he said he was inspired by me, because to him I’m an example of how you can be a musician, be a performer, and not be, you know, extremely thin.  I don’t know, that kinda stuff means a lot to me.  Nothing is more special to me than knowing I can make a difference in someone else’s life.”

 

“Would things like that, for you, be a reason why you wouldn’t lose any weight?”

 

“Um, yeah, I think so.  I haven’t really thought too much about losing weight; I’m pretty comfortable with where I am, but it’s definitely nice knowing it can help other people feel better.”

 

“So you don’t have any plans to diet?”

 

“No,” Brendon smiled, “I don’t feel compelled to do that.”

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

The food in Europe, all around, was amazing.  Ryan was always jotting down little ideas and recipes to keep with them for when they returned home.  He told Brendon that he missed being at home, missed cooking all of their meals, although he loved learning about new foods and culinary techniques when he could.  Brendon missed Ryan’s cooking, too, but he was more than content to feast on all the foods from various restaurants and countries while they were away from home.  Ryan definitely fulfilled his promise of keeping him well-fed on the road.

 

Since tour started, Brendon had undeniably gained weight, but there was no telling how much.  There was no scale for him to check, and he rarely got the chance to look at more than his face in the mirror.  The steady gain was convenient, in Brendon’s mind—his appetite grew with him, and he had an increased ability to eat more, try more things.  The feeding session from the hotel in Belgium was not an isolated incident; Ryan managed to pull the same stunt a few more times for him before the tour came to a close.  Between that and the rich, savory cuisine they went out for every night, it took its toll on Brendon’s waistline.  His shirts had all gotten extremely tight by the time their last show was coming around, riding up more easily and showing the outline of his  belly button.  He was constantly tugging them down.  Even worse were his underwear, so small and ill-fitting around his hips that the elastic waistband was tearing, and he often took Ryan’s whispered advice to not wear any by the end of tour.

 

He all but lived in the sweatpants Spencer gave him.  They were the only thing that comfortably fit, and luckily had some stretch room.  Stretch room only went so far, though, especially with the way Brendon’s ass expanded on the daily, and he knew they wouldn’t last much longer by the last couple days of tour.  The day before their flight home, Brendon tugged them up over his hips and ass, hearing a couple seams pop as he did so.  It took some squirming, but they were comfortable enough once they were on.

 

It was quiet but bright on the bus.  Brendon had slept in much later than he meant to, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.  The silence was odd, so Brendon wandered out from the bunks to the lounge to see where everyone was.

 

The bus was deserted aside from Brendon and Ryan, who was quietly curled up on the couch with a book and a blanket.  “Finally awake, B?” Ryan said, glancing up from his book with an amused smile.

 

“Yeah,” Brendon yawned.  “Where is everyone?”

 

“Out to eat,” Ryan said.  Brendon looked at him incredulously.  “Don’t worry, I told them to bring you something back.  Besides, there are plenty of leftovers in the fridge right there.  They’ve got to get eaten before we go home.”

 

Brendon immediately began rummaging in the fridge for something to eat, naturally hungry upon waking up.

 

“Sorry we’re not going with them.  I didn’t want to wake you up,” Ryan continued.

 

“It’s okay.”  He put a plateful of German meat and potatoes in the microwave, digging into a cold piece of pizza in the meantime.  “How long ago did they leave?”

 

“Oh, not too long ago.  Maybe thirty minutes?”

 

Brendon made his way over to the couch to sit beside Ryan, and Ryan distractedly fumbled with his bookmark to close his novel.  He ended up dropping the thin piece of ribbon he used to mark his page, sighing in exasperation.  While he was still standing, Brendon stuffed the last few bites of his pizza into his mouth and bent to pick up the bookmark on the floor.  In doing so, he heard the sound of threads popping and material ripping, unmistakeable.

 

His sweatpants ripped, right down his ass, exposing his flesh and ruining his last pair of pants that fit.

 

Immediately his face felt hot with embarrassment.  He slowly retrieved Ryan’s bookmark from the floor and handed it to him.  Ryan had noticed, for sure, grinning at him with a certain smugness.  Brendon couldn’t believe he just split his pants, but he was thankful nobody else was around in the moment to see it.

 

“Oh my god,” Brendon breathed.  He reached back to feel where the rip was, and felt it extend several inches.  He squeezed his ass, gauging its size, and, well—he couldn’t believe how small his hand seemed in comparison.

 

“Fuck, Ryan, what am I gonna do?” Brendon asked.  He didn’t have anything else to wear, truly and officially too big for all his clothes.  As arousing as that was deep inside him, he was in a bit of a desperate predicament with no immediate solution.

 

“Relax, baby boy,” Ryan soothed.  “You’ve got a little more room in those sweatpants, now, don’t you?  It doesn’t matter if your clothes are a little too tight.  Besides, your costume still fits you, doesn’t it?  Don’t worry about this, B.  That fabric was thin and soft, anyway.  Why don’t you come sit down here, get all settled in, and I’ll get you that food you warmed up?” Ryan said.

 

Brendon nodded at Ryan’s words and sank down on the couch.  The tear widened some as he did so, ass spreading out upon sitting down.  Ryan stood up, revealing his cock fully hard in his pants.  Brendon pulled the blanket around himself and felt his worries leave him peacefully.  He trusted Ryan, knew Ryan would take care of him.  He could fully allow himself to become aroused, too, knowing that Ryan was, at the concept of outgrowing his clothes to the point of them ripping.

 

The food Ryan brought to him was a relief, as he felt irresistibly hungry.  He knew that eating more would just make his ass bigger and softer, make him grow further and further away from fitting in the pants he wore, but something about that felt tantalizing and desirable to him.

 

Ryan slipped under the blanket with him as Brendon shoveled the food in his mouth, eating faster than he meant to.  His appetite was just so demanding.  “Eat up, B,” Ryan encouraged, “I want to see you rip more of your clothes, you know, and that won’t happen if you’re still so skinny.”

 

Brendon closed his eyes and groaned around the forkful of food he was holding.  Ryan knew just how to make him shudder and get even hungrier.

 

“I like these sweatpants more, now, I think,” Ryan said, rubbing a hand over the head of Brendon’s cock through his clothes.  “Now they really show off your ass, more than they did before.  I’ll really be able to see how much your ass shakes when you walk.  You’re just getting so soft.”

 

Brendon threw his head back, bucking up into Ryan’s hand.

 

“You’re gonna grow for me more, aren’t you, beautiful?  Eating all that is gonna go straight to your hips.  Don’t you worry, sweetheart, I’ll keep getting you more clothes, more food.  All you need to do is sit back and stuff yourself for me, okay?”

 

Brendon came in his already wrecked pants as he pushed a big forkful of buttery mashed potatoes into his mouth.  He knew he needed a whole new wardrobe when they returned home, but with the way Ryan was talking, he also knew he was doomed to eventually outgrow it.

 

That fate didn’t sound too bad, though, and Brendon had to admit to himself that he loved the extra weight as much as Ryan did.

 

Now what were his options to wear for the flight home . . .


	7. Chapter 7

The day after they came home from tour, Ryan left the house early in the morning to shop for Brendon.  He would be gone for a few hours, as he was picking out an entirely new set of clothes without Brendon’s help.  Ryan had convinced him to stay home, to catch up on rest, sleep as late as he wanted.

 

Brendon didn’t get out of bed until close to eleven in the morning.  He had a vague memory of Ryan kissing him goodbye when it was still mostly dark outside, but he supposed he fell back to sleep immediately after.

 

It felt luxurious to simply be at home.  He had slept naked in the night, comfortably.  Without having to worry about a lack of privacy, he took his time in the shower, and only wore a fresh pair of boxers after getting out.  They were too tight for Brendon’s taste, some of the seams popping around his thighs and ass as he put them on. Albeit small, they were functional enough until Ryan arrived home again with something bigger for him.

 

He stared at himself in the mirror for a few moments, while droplets of water still clung to his skin.  His eyes were drawn to his belly, rounded out in a curve that stuck out farther than any other part of his body.  Since the last time he had really examined himself, his sides had puffed up with fat, pushing over the waistband of his boxers.  He squeezed his newly developed love handles in awe, only to be surprised at how much he could pinch. His hips had widened, and his thighs touched.  Any of the muscle definition he once had was buried by a layer of pudge, especially in his abdomen and legs. His jawline was gone, the ridges of his shoulders had smoothed out, and his chest had grown soft.

 

Part of him felt startled at how drastically his body had changed.  Only a few short months had passed since he began gaining weight, and it surprised him how different simply indulging made him look.  Another part of him felt a little bit guilty for not wanting to take any measures to lose weight, get his old figure back—but that was a faint concern, and Brendon didn’t let it worry him.

 

Mostly, he felt desirable.

 

Knowing how attracted Ryan was to his weight gain, and how pleasurable life was now that he had ‘let himself go,’ Brendon felt quite comfortable in his body.  He thought he looked good, that he looked as cozy as he felt. On top of that, he felt sensuous, thinking of how easily he could seduce Ryan now. Seducing Ryan was one of his favorite things to do; he loved the look Ryan got on his face when Brendon showed off how much weight he’d put on; he loved the dominant role Ryan was getting more accustomed to that always came out when Brendon had him aroused.

 

Brendon loved his new body, and he was excited to see what cute clothes Ryan would buy for him.  As he was wondering how many sizes up the clothes would have to be now for them to fit, he questioned how much weight he had gained during their month in Europe.

 

Before they left, he was in the high 180s.  He supposed that number steadily increased from the day they arrived in Italy, not losing a single pound, even with the exercise from performing shows.

 

The scale in the corner of the bathroom squeaked slightly as Brendon stepped on.  He had been using it so much before tour. Unprepared for the verdict of the scale, Brendon glanced down at the number glowing up at him.

 

He did a double take, but—no, there was no mistake.  Brendon correctly read the number 214 on the digital screen.

 

214 pounds seemed so heavy to him.  Not only had he passed the 200 mark, he had also passed 208, which was the fifty pounds Ryan wanted him to gain from the beginning.  He was shocked to have gained so much weight over such a short timespan—almost thirty pounds over five weeks. No wonder he was more tired after shows near the end of tour.  His body probably just didn’t have enough time to adjust, Brendon reasoned, to the constant binging on ridiculously rich foods. If he took a couple days off from overindulging, he was sure his weight would drop a little bit.

 

It might even be good to lose a few pounds and hover around 208.  Wasn’t that where Ryan wanted him? He’d done it now, gained the weight Ryan wished for, and some extra.  He wondered if now, since he met his goal, Ryan would want all the intentional gaining to stop . . .

 

He shook the thought from his head, the idea so unpleasant in his mind.  His stomach was rumbling, and he was in the mood for something sweet for breakfast, so he let himself become focused on that.

 

Since Ryan found his love for cooking, Brendon hadn’t prepared any of his own food—not a single meal.  If Ryan was ever out, there were always either leftovers or Ryan would be on his way home with something for Brendon to eat.  Brendon didn’t think Ryan would be home for awhile, though, so he set to work himself in their kitchen.

 

They still had all the materials to make pancakes, although the pantry and fridge looked quite barren compared to normal.  Brendon began making the batter, and the sugary-sweet smell only made him hungrier. He hoped they would cook quickly. Their skillet allowed him to cook four at once, and he had intent to make a large batch, enough for his own large appetite and extra for Ryan.

 

When he had a nice, tall stack started, he nibbled on one of the pancakes while he prepared the rest of the batter.  It was edible, but he wouldn’t necessarily say it was good. He’d burned it ever so slightly, and it was a little too starchy and bland.  Edible, though, all the same. Whatever Ryan did when he made breakfast was leaps and bounds better than what Brendon could manage in the kitchen.  Ryan spoiled him way too much with his cooking, Brendon thought it probably made him more picky when it came to food than he ever was before.

 

He wasn’t done making his breakfast when he heard the sound of the front door unlocking.  Ryan was quiet coming in, aside from the light sound of his shoes on the floor and the rustling of plastic bags.  Brendon began whistling, subtle but cheerful, just to alert Ryan of his presence.

 

“B?  I didn’t think you would be awake yet,” Ryan said, setting his bags down on the counter.

 

“Good morning, baby.  I just got up a couple minutes ago,” Brendon said.  His gaze was focused down on the pancakes he was trying to flip, and he startled when he felt Ryan’s hands on his waist.

 

“You didn’t have to cook.  I stopped at a bakery for you on my way home,” Ryan murmured.  He kissed Brendon’s neck, winding his arms around him to rest his hands on Brendon’s belly.

 

“I thought you would be out longer and . . . I was hungry.”

 

“Well, we should get that taken care of now.  I’ve got a few more things to get from the car, and then I’ll come finish this up so you can sit and eat.”

 

“Okay,” Brendon nodded, “thank you.”  He turned his head to catch Ryan’s lips against his own for a brief moment before Ryan parted with him once more.

 

The pancakes on the skillet in front of Brendon had blackened in the short time he had been distracted by Ryan’s presence.  He sighed and turned the burner off, giving up on his attempt at breakfast. Ryan would be able to finish up the batch and make it way better than Brendon ever could, he was positive.

 

His belly rumbled, and he hoped Ryan brought him home something substantial to sate his demanding appetite.  A moment later, he realized the absurdity of the thought that Ryan wouldn’t feed him enough. Of course Ryan would bring him an abundance of food.  Instead he wondered just how much Ryan intended for him to eat.

 

He didn’t have to wonder much longer, as Ryan re-entered the house to place two white bakery boxes on the table in front of Brendon.  “I wasn’t sure whether you would like the doughnuts or muffins more, so I got you both,” Ryan explained. He ruffled Brendon’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of Brendon’s head before returning to the kitchen.  Brendon followed him with his eyes, admiring, then he remembered how hungry he was.

 

Both boxes opened to reveal enough mouth-watering baked treats to feed a family.  Six muffins, all with a diameter the same as the palm of his hand, and at least a dozen doughnuts, all of varying kinds.  The scent of apple and cinnamon wafted up to him from somewhere, along with a rich chocolate and some sort of creamy icing.  He reached down to pick up one of the doughnuts, glancing over at Ryan just as he was about to take an indulgent bite. The image of Ryan’s long, skinny legs and narrow waist suddenly made him rethink his decision; he closed his mouth and set the pastry down.  There was something he felt the need to ask Ryan before he went any further, craving Ryan’s opinion, but mostly his approval.

 

“Ryan?” He asked.

 

“Yeah, B?”

 

“I’ve, uh—I’ve gained fifty pounds now, you know.”

 

“That’s good, sweetheart,” Ryan said, but he wasn’t fully engaged, back turned to Brendon, looking over the stove.

 

“I’ve put on a little extra, too.”

 

“You’ve been eating well.”

“Ryan.  Do you—do you want me to stop?”

 

That seemed to work in getting Ryan’s attention, as he turned around to face Brendon.  “Stop what?” Ryan questioned.

 

“Stop gaining weight.”

 

Ryan stared at him.  “Do I want you to stop gaining weight?  What makes you think I would want that?”

 

“I don’t know, I mean, you told me you wanted me to gain fifty pounds, back when I first started putting weight on, and I have now, and I—I’ve gotten so fat, you might want all this to stop before I get any bigger—”

 

“Brendon, my love, come here,” Ryan said, standing between the kitchen and the dining room table where Brendon sat.  Brendon did as Ryan asked, ignoring his hunger and the food on the table for the time being. Ryan reached up to rest a hand on Brendon’s cheek, his thumb caressing Brendon’s jaw, and asked, “Do you want to stop gaining weight?”

 

Brendon knew his answer, but was somehow embarrassed to say it.  He felt himself blush, looking down to avoid Ryan’s eyes. All he could see was the swell of his belly and the two small protrusions of his chest, soft as dough.  He couldn’t believe he was thinking about gaining even more weight . . .

 

“Do you?” Ryan asked again.

 

But of course he wanted to gain more.  His chub felt nice, warm and protective, and eating felt so, so good.  “No,” Brendon finally answered. “No, I don’t want to stop. I don’t want any of this to stop.”

 

Ryan grinned.  “Good. I don’t want any of this to stop, either.  And, sweetheart, I would never ask you to stop doing something that makes you feel so good.”

 

“You’re so good to me,” Brendon said.

 

“I just want to take care of you.”

 

“But . . . but are you still going to be attracted to me when I gain more?  Does it still turn you on, even though you know how much I’ve gained?”

 

Ryan took that as his cue to slide his hands down to rest on Brendon’s hips.  “I’ll always be turned on by you. And if you’re going to take everything I say so literally . . .” Ryan trailed off, looking down at Brendon, considering.  “I want you to double your weight for me, baby boy.”

 

“D-double my weight?” Brendon repeated.

 

Ryan smirked.  “Yeah,” he said, looking Brendon up and down, “as long as you’re still intent on gaining.”

 

Brendon’s head spun at the thought of the numbers.  Doubling 214 pounds—he’d weigh 428. That idea intimidated him, and yet it seemed so far away.  He liked having a goal, though, something to work towards. And he surely wouldn’t have to worry about changing his greedy eating habits, which was a major plus.  “I’ll be so fat,” Brendon said, as if Ryan was suddenly going to reconsider.

 

Ryan merely agreed.  “You’ll outgrow this little chubby stage you’re in.”

 

Brendon couldn’t help but smile a little at that.  “You don’t think I’m too fat already?”

 

“No, you could definitely use some more plumping up, don’t you think?” Ryan asked.  Brendon looked down to where Ryan’s hands were gently kneading his love handles, and he strangely felt himself beginning to get aroused.  He thought of Ryan feeding him, fattening him, and it made him shiver with pleasure.

 

He nodded in response to Ryan’s question, ready for whatever else Ryan might do or say to him.

 

Ryan pulled him in close and whispered in his ear, “You know I just want to take care of you, sweetheart.  I want to keep you happy and well-fed, and we both know that’s just going to make you fatter. Is that okay, B?”

 

“Please feed me,” Brendon replied.  “I’m so hungry.”

 

Ryan kissed him on the forehead.  “Such a good boy. You must be starving.”

 

Brendon wasn’t lying when he said we was hungry.  Ryan guided him back to his seat where the doughnuts and muffins were laid out, and Brendon felt intense cravings with his newfound motivation to gain weight.  He picked up the doughnut he had before and took a big bite, but still needed more. He shoved the rest of the pastry in as quickly as possible. His cheeks bulged, and he moaned.

 

Ryan petted his hair, like he needed to be soothed.  He supposed he must have looked quite desperate. “That’s right, baby boy.  Just give in.”

 

Unable to decide whether he wanted a muffin or another doughnut next, he picked up both, one in each hand.  After he gulped down what was already in his mouth, he took a bite from each delicacy. His mouth was full enough that his jaw ached, but everything tasted so good.  He couldn’t help himself as he continued devouring the food in front of him, using both hands to shove food in his mouth.

 

“My, my,” Ryan said, “you’ve gotten so . . . gluttonous.”

 

Between how good it felt to be filling his gut, and the alluring tone Ryan’s voice had taken on, Brendon couldn’t deny he was aroused.  He was completely at the mercy of his appetite, stuffing his face with more and more food. The doughnuts and muffins were quickly disappearing from Brendon’s double-fisted style of eating, dwindling to half the original amount.  Brendon was out of breath from all of it, and kept shifting his hips as if it would ease some of the pressure of his hard cock.

 

“Pace yourself, B,” Ryan warned.  “Slow down so you can finish all of it.”

 

“I can’t,” Brendon whimpered, through a mouthful of food.  “I can’t stop—I can’t stop eating.”

 

“You’re so hot,” Ryan breathed.  “Don’t worry about it, baby boy, you just eat as much as you can.”

 

Brendon couldn’t reply—his mouth was too full.  He thought about taking Ryan’s advice of slowing down, but the temptation was too strong.  Every time he tried to pause for a moment to catch his breath, he was overwhelmed with need for something sweet in his mouth, so he just kept cramming more food in.  His belly was getting full, swollen from the influx of food. Brendon could feel it pushing out more than normal, even without the restriction of tight clothes. Ryan brought both hands down to rub along the sides of his belly, his touch light and careful.

 

“I love watching you gorge yourself,” Ryan whispered in his ear.  “You must really be eager to see that number go up on the scale, aren’t you?”

 

“I want to be as fat as you want me,” Brendon said, muffled from his persistent eating.  His cock throbbed from how hard he was, and Ryan’s touches weren’t doing anything to help that.  He felt totally out of control, any willpower slipping far beyond his reach. It was just that he couldn’t seem to eat fast enough.

 

“If you keep eating like this, you’ll never be this thin again.  It’s a good thing I bought you clothes a few sizes up, because it seems like you’re just gonna keep getting bigger and bigger for me.”

 

“I can’t—can’t help it,” Brendon moaned.  He knew he couldn’t lose any weight if he tried, and would never be able to resist anything Ryan wanted to feed him.

 

“It’s okay.  It’s okay,” Ryan said, rubbing his hands across Brendon’s belly slowly, “you’ve got plenty of room to grow.”

 

He finally slowed down the pace of his eating, nearing the end of his meal, but it was involuntary.  His belly was so full, every swallow was getting more painful. There was only one doughnut left, and he languidly pushed it past his lips.  His jaw was sore from so much chewing, so it took him awhile to be able to gulp it down. The cake-like texture and sweetness of it was worth savoring, but it made him feel ready to pop once it reached his stomach.

 

Ryan’s hands on his belly soothed him and added to his arousal all at once.  “Oh, baby, I’m so full,” he whined, “it hurts.”

 

“You like it, though, don’t you?” Ryan said.

 

Brendon shamefully nodded.  It was hard to believe he had come to enjoy the feeling of being too stuffed with food to move.  The pleasure mixed with the pain, and was intensified with the thought of what all that eating would do to his body.

 

“You like overindulging for me?  You’ve been eating so much lately, you’re really packing on the pounds.  And if stuffing yourself like this turns you on . . . well, then you’re going to blow up into the fat boy you’re meant to be.  Is that what you want?”

 

Brendon’s hips thrusted up with Ryan’s teasing.  “Please, I want you to make me fatter. It feels so good,” Brendon said.  All he could think about was Ryan feeding him and making his body expand, belly getting softer and pushing out more, hips getting wider, thighs thickening.

 

“Getting you to gain weight has never been hard.  You love eating so much, I don’t think you even need my help.  You’d binge on all this food on your own. But you can blame me for ruining your figure all you want,” Ryan said.

 

“You’ve made me so big already.”

 

“And we’re gonna make you bigger.  Look at how round you’ve gotten . . .”

 

“You’ll have to roll me to bed,” Brendon said, only half-joking.  He groaned and hiccuped.

 

“Too full to get up?  I need to start feeding you in bed more often, then you won’t have to work at all.  I need to get you cleaned up, too, you’ve got some frosting on you.”

 

Brendon suddenly became aware of the frosting surrounding his lips and on his chin, as well as all over his fingers.  He blushed at how he had eaten with such reckless abandonment, and in front of Ryan. With a deep breath, he leaned forward to reach for a napkin on the table, and felt his lower belly graze the top of his thighs in doing so.  The movement brought him more pain, and he leaned back in his chair once more. He felt so heavy.

 

When he believed his hands and face were free of frosting, he let his arms fall limply to his sides.  Just when he was about to whine from how hard his cock was, Ryan knelt in front of him.

 

“You’ve been so good for me, B, growing so fast,” Ryan said, continuing to massage his belly.  “You always impress me with how much you can eat. I guess when you get turned on by eating it makes it a little easier, doesn’t it?”  Ryan brought a hand down to cup Brendon’s cock through his boxers.

 

Brendon’s eyes rolled back in his head.  Ryan pulled Brendon’s boxers down just enough to get his cock out, and Brendon’s hips eagerly jolted forward.  He looked down at Ryan kneeling between his legs, but could only see the top of his head, view blocked by his swollen belly.  That by itself was enough to make Brendon moan, but the feeling of pleasure increased tenfold when Ryan’s mouth covered the head of his cock.

 

Ryan sucked him off, and Brendon finished embarrassingly fast, but Ryan seemed pleased with himself over all of it.  “It’s gotten easier to make you come since you started gaining, you know?” Ryan said.

 

“You keep me turned on all the time now,” Brendon said.

 

“Food turns you on, too.  That helps, considering how much you eat.”

 

“And you feed me only the best.”

 

“I do try,” Ryan said.  He stood from his place between Brendon’s legs, and Brendon could see the bulge in his pants.  Brendon desired to return the favor to Ryan, to make him come as well.

 

“Ryan, lover, you’re so hard.  What can I do for you? What do you want?” Brendon offered.

 

Ryan shook his head and smiled.  Of course he had something else planned.  “Once you think you can manage it, I want you to lay down on the couch for me, and I’m going to fuck you so, so good.  It’s been too long,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon’s sensitive cock twitched with arousal again.  “I’m too full—” Brendon began.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.  We’ll go slow. I don’t want you burning too many calories, anyway.  How does that sound?” Ryan asked.

 

Brendon felt heat rise in his stomach, along with his cock.  Ryan knew him too well, knew exactly what he wanted, knew how to play his words to get him going.  It was no surprise Brendon was weak for him.

 

“Sounds hot,” Brendon said.

 

Due to how stuffed Brendon was, Ryan was going to have to wait a bit to get his own physical pleasure.  He didn’t seem too concerned about it, though, and carried on with unpacking everything he brought home that morning.  Brendon stayed firmly planted in his chair at the dining room table, comfortable enough, as he let all the doughnuts and muffins digest.

 

On top of the clothes shopping he had done for Brendon, Ryan also went grocery shopping, picking up enough food to last them for at least a few days.  There were the basics: baking supplies, meats, breads, beer, and ice cream, but Ryan picked up extra special items as well.

 

“It’s only a couple weeks until Halloween, so I went ahead and picked up candy while the good stuff is still out,” Ryan said.  Brendon perked up from his near food coma at the mention of Halloween candy. While they usually had a bag of candy somewhere around the house, they really went all-out for Halloween every year.  Together, they always bought enough candy for every kid in LA to trick-or-treat at their house and have some left over. Their grocery bill in October was higher than any other month just from that alone.  And this year, Brendon knew it was going to be different for the holidays, as Ryan was cooking and Brendon was eating so much.

 

Although Ryan’s intent, on the outside, was to save the candy for Halloween night, they both knew it would be long gone before then.  If Brendon happened to be craving candy on any particular day, he could probably demolish a pound bag by himself without flinching now.

 

The candy Ryan bought was special, too, none of the extremely artificial cheap shit that was always readily available.  Ryan laid out bags of chocolate caramels, peanut butter truffles, fudge-covered cookie dough, and variations of mixtures of all three.  Brendon’s mouth watered, and he wanted to try a taste of all of it, even with how full he was.

 

“You spoil me,” Brendon stated, as Ryan began putting all of it away in the pantry.

 

“This candy is to be saved for Halloween,” Ryan said, sternly pointing a finger at him.

 

Brendon laughed.  “We’ll see if any of it’s left by then.”

 

“B, if you want something sweet, then I’ll bake something for you, but this candy is meant for trick-or-treaters.”

 

Ryan bought all of Brendon’s favorites, and Brendon had strong suspicions it was intentional.  His insistence on saving it for Halloween must have been some sort of personal experiment to test how well Brendon could control his cravings.  The obvious answer was that he couldn’t control himself at all, not around his favorite foods. Brendon found it amusing Ryan even wanted to question that fact, and had his own test on Ryan’s willpower to perform.

 

Brendon put on the biggest, most pathetic pout he could manage at Ryan denying him candy.  He blinked exaggeratedly at him, wanting to look heartbroken. “But chocolate is my favorite,” Brendon whined.

 

Ryan caved for him almost instantly.  “Okay, sweetheart, a little taste won’t hurt, right?  You probably need a few more minutes before you can eat anything else, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, a couple more minutes.”

 

At the store, Ryan had also bought pumpkin everything. Bottled pumpkin spice, canned pumpkin, pumpkin seeds (seasoned and unseasoned), pumpkin milk, and a couple whole, large pumpkins that would be perfect for carving.  “I have so many new recipes to try, now that it’s fall,” Ryan said, eyes lighting up as he talked about cooking. Brendon loved hearing him be so excited about something, and was excited himself to be Ryan’s taste-tester in the coming months.

 

As Ryan was organizing the bags he brought home from various stores, he set Brendon’s new clothes off to the side at Brendon’s request.  “I don’t want to try anything on yet. That’s way too much moving right now,” Brendon said.

 

“Of course.  I don’t mind having you naked, either,” Ryan said.  Brendon flushed under his gaze.

 

A few moments later, Brendon found it within himself to get up and make his way over to the couch.  He groaned as he did so, cradling his still overfull belly. Unused to the heaviness of his gut, he was panting by the time he laid down.  He was trying to catch his breath, but lost it again at the sight of Ryan approaching him.

 

Ryan had unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing, and was moving to slip it off his shoulders when Brendon looked up at him.  The pale skin of Ryan’s torso was revealed, and Brendon thought he had this sort of delicate air about him. Maybe it was from his sharp collar bones, the couple visible ribs, the way the skin was almost stretched too tightly over the bones of his chest, or maybe it was from the way he moved with such ease and grace.  Either way, Ryan still managed to command a presence over Brendon that was just slightly dominant, and made Brendon feel utterly exposed. The mixture of all of it made Brendon yearn for Ryan to touch him, to take him.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan gazed down at him, and his eyes were full of a heated lust that made Brendon’s arousal spark back up.  He shook his head and tsked. “No, Brendon, you should see yourself,” Ryan replied.

 

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Brendon asked, smiling.

 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Ryan said.  Brendon’s eyes fluttered shut as Ryan bent over to kiss him on the lips. The kiss quickly turned into desperately making out, and Brendon habitually spread his legs at the feeling of Ryan groaning into his lips.  Ryan pulled away by a couple inches to ask, “Can I make love to you? I want to feel you.” Ryan brushed their lips together once more, and Brendon fearfully thought how fast he might come again.

 

“Please,” Brendon said, and that was all it took.

 

Sometimes, Brendon was still surprised by how big Ryan’s cock was.  He felt honored, truly, to be the boyfriend of someone so well-equipped. He was so caught up in staring at Ryan’s cock that he didn’t even notice the bag in Ryan’s hand, and to Brendon, it didn’t matter at all.  Nothing else mattered besides Ryan touching him, and his renewed desire for Ryan to fuck him. Ryan’s ability to pleasure Brendon sexually had always been astounding, and Brendon never wanted to take that for granted.

 

Brendon skipped over all the teasing Ryan usually inflicted upon him, and went straight to begging for Ryan’s cock.  Ryan got satisfaction out of Brendon begging in bed, and Brendon’s main intent at the moment was to please Ryan as best as he could.  “Please fuck me, oh, Ryan, your cock looks so good,” Brendon said in earnest.

 

“You really are greedy today,” Ryan commented, but he wasn’t displeased.  He climbed on the couch and spread Brendon’s legs further, giving himself full access to Brendon’s body.  Brendon felt vulnerable, and he couldn’t wait to feel what Ryan was going to do to him.

 

Ryan placed his hands on the round dome of Brendon’s belly.  “Are you still so full that it hurts?” Ryan asked.

 

“No, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

 

“So you have room for more,” Ryan said.  Brendon’s eyes widened at the prospect of eating anything else.  He watched Ryan lean over to pick something up from the floor beside the couch, and he revealed it to be one of the bags of Halloween candy.  Brendon smelled chocolate as soon as Ryan opened the bag, and his mouth watered.

 

He opened his mouth for Ryan to bring a chunk of chocolate to his lips.  He chewed and swallowed, closing his eyes. His mouth was flooded with liquid caramel—a pleasant surprise.  With his eyes still closed, he heard the familiar sound of Ryan opening a bottle of lube. Ryan slipped two slick fingers into him, and Brendon shuddered at the feeling.  His cock was getting so hard, even more so as Ryan used his other hand to knead one of his thighs. There was more for Ryan to grab than there ever had been.

 

“All of you has gotten so soft,” Ryan said, endearingly.  He carefully shifted his fingers, brushing against Brendon’s prostate.  Brendon let out a moan, which was the perfect opportunity for Ryan to realize his mouth was empty.  Ryan reached for another chocolate to feed Brendon, and Brendon gladly accepted it. As he slowly chewed, Ryan slipped another finger in.  Brendon was already overwhelmed with pleasure.

 

Ryan kept his promise of going slow and gentle, between feeding Brendon and prepping him.  The only catch was that Brendon was getting so turned on he could hardly stand it.

 

“Ryan, please,” Brendon gasped out, between candies.

 

“What do you need, baby boy?”

 

“Please fuck me, I’ve waited so long . . .”

 

Ryan kissed his lips before feeding him another chocolate.  Brendon shifted his hips restlessly, tensing when Ryan pulled his fingers out.  Ryan placed a light smack to his ass and pushed his cock in, gripping both of Brendon’s thighs.  Brendon’s head turned to mush, and his jaw went slack. Ryan felt so good inside him.

 

The chocolate and caramel only added to his pleasure as Ryan steadily fed him.  His thrusts weren’t too rough, just enough for Brendon to definitely feel him, deep enough to hit his prostate over and over.  Brendon didn’t have to work at all, simply laying there, letting himself get fucked and fed in a perfect combination of ecstasy.

 

“Fuck, look at you,” Ryan groaned, his hips stuttering.  Brendon never wanted it to end, but was relieved to think that Ryan might not last much longer than him.  Ryan’s eyes were fixed down on Brendon’s body, and it made Brendon become conscious of the way his belly and chest were jiggling in time with Ryan’s thrusts.  He felt fatter than he ever had before.

 

Ryan fed Brendon a last piece of chocolate before reaching down to wrap a hand around Brendon’s cock.  Brendon knew he was going to come soon, body tingling, eyes falling shut. Brendon couldn’t help the noises that were escaping him, too lost in the pleasure.

 

“B, I’m gonna come—” Ryan said, and pressed their hips flush together to finish inside him.  Brendon’s orgasm was only seconds later, and coursed through him with just as much, if not more intensity as his first one that day.

 

Ryan was calm and relaxed pulling out, but Brendon was panting.

 

“I love you,” Ryan murmured.  He bent down to get a washcloth.  He’d really come prepared with all the supplies, Brendon thought, as Ryan began cleaning the come off his belly.

 

“I love you too,” Brendon said.

 

“Was that good?” Ryan asked.

 

“So good, baby.  Thank you.”

 

“Did you like being fed?”

 

“I loved it.  Those chocolates were so good.  That bag isn’t gonna make it till tomorrow.”

 

Ryan chuckled.  “I knew you weren’t going to be able to resist too long.  Definitely not all the way until Halloween.”

 

“Hey, you were the one who fed that candy to me.”

 

“I love watching you give in to temptation.”  Ryan bumped their noses together and smiled against his lips.  Brendon pushed his head up to kiss him deeply.

 

“You do tempt me quite often,” Brendon said.

 

“It’s only going to get worse with the holidays, now.  I’ll be baking so much, I’m glad you’ve got such a big appetite . . . I hope you’re always tempted by what I make for you,” Ryan said.

 

“Too tempted,” Brendon said, patting his belly.  “It’s what’s made me get so big.”

 

“That’s not a bad thing.”

 

“No,” Brendon agreed.  “If you start baking more sweets for me, though, I’ll be gaining weight so fast.  I can’t control myself around that kind of food—you saw me today.”

 

“You don’t need to control yourself.  I want you to eat and eat to your heart’s content,” Ryan said.

 

“Well, if you keep feeding me like you have today, I’ll have doubled my weight by the end of this month,” Brendon exaggerated.

 

They both were giggly, in post-orgasmic bliss, as Ryan languidly fed Brendon more chocolate.  “At least you’ll never have to worry about going hungry,” Ryan said. Brendon was glad for the reminder that his life really was that nice, with his belly almost uncomfortably full of food again.

 

Brendon closed his eyes, focused on how soothing Ryan’s belly rub felt, and was worry-free as he faded off into a doze.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic should be really adorable? Hopefully? Go ahead and tell me what you think so far.


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